Samara's Escape
by Mad Vampire Poet
Summary: When Drusilla encounters the cursed tape, Samara finally finds the family she's always wanted. But what of the vampire Damien, who desperately wants revenge on Spike? Will he complicate matters? Early chapter are poor, I will rewrite them when completed.
1. The Tape

Samara's Escape

_Chapter The First: The Tape_

**Disclaimer: ****I do NOT own Buff the Vampire Slayer or The Ring. The genius Joss Whedon owns Buffy, and I **_**think **_**DreamWorks owns The Ring. If not, I haven't the foggiest who it is.**

Hope you enjoy the story!

It was eleven o' clock on a Tuesday night, and Drusilla was bored and hungry, which certainly wasn't a good combination for any unfortunate souls who happened to be wondering about at night. Drusilla wanted her breakfast, and she _always _got what she wanted. Well, most of the time she did.

"I spy with my little eye…" She said, searching the street for any potential victims. And she found him. A teenage boy, across the street, wondering about after dark, just as those idiotic teenagers always did.

She walked over to him, her black floor-length gown trailing behind her, slightly shimmering in the soft moonlight. It was cloudy and the stars were hiding away, but the moon was still out to play. He was staring at her, with curiosity. She smiled at him slightly.

"You shouldn't be out here alone, you know." She said. She leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear. "You could get hurt." In her four inch heeled boots, Drusilla was actually taller than the boy, although she would usually be only a couple of inches smaller anyway.

"Get hurt by who? I think it's more likely someone would come after a helpless girl like you." Dru smiled.

"I'm not helpless." She said. Her face morphed into that of her vampire visage, and she bit down on the boys' neck. His blood flowed into her mouth, like a waterfall of delicious liquid pouring down her throat. She drank until he was drained, and then let his body fall to the floor. She doubted that he'd be missed.

As he fell to the ground, his bag flew open, and its contents spilled out onto the grimy street. Drusilla knelt down to examine them more closely. There were a few school books, and some paper, which looked like homework assignments. There was a brand new Blue-Ray disc of some movie; Dru couldn't be bothered about the title. The only thing in the bag even slightly out of the ordinary was a videotape. It was unmarked; nothing was even written on the side of it to indicate what was on it. It was something that had been recorded or copied, but that was all Dru could tell. As she carefully placed the objects back inside the bag, he hand lingered on the tape. She had a feeling about it. She didn't know what kind of feeling it was, it was just a _feeling. _It obviously wasn't just any ordinary tape. Why would the boy have a tape anyway? Nobody watched video's anymore. Well, some people did, but probably not many. This boy proved that himself, by owning a Blue-Ray disc. Dru decided she'd take the tape with her. She was sure watching it was the best way to find out what it was.

…

She arrived home, and inserted the tape into the VCR. For a few seconds, nothing was shown but static, but then a ring of light flickered onto the screen. It quickly changed to the next image: blood in water. There were several other, rather confusing images that followed: a chair, hair being combed, a woman combing her hair in a mirror, and then the mirror moving, to reveal a little girl, with dark hair and a white dress, backing away from it. The woman looked at her, before the mriror moved back to its original place. There was a house shown, with a man looking out of the window. There was a place with a tree, and grass waving in the wind, a fly buzzing across the screen. There was a person, with _something _being violently pulled out of their mouth. There was black plastic, something inside it moving about violently, and then a tree on fire. A finger being impaled. Maggots, crawling over each other, turning into people crawling around in water. A table, chair and a glass of water, with a huge centipede pushing the chair aside to crawl through. A lame animal limping into a barn. A box of twitching fingers, no longer attatched to hands. The woman in the mirror again, turning around. Dru could swear the woman was looking right at her. A ladder, which then fell to the ground. The woman jumping off the cliff she had seen earlier, with the tree and and grass. And then static as the tape ended.

The phone rang, catching Drusilla slightly off guard. She answered it, already knowing what was going to be said.

"_Seven days."_ And then the line went dead. It was the voice of a little girl. The little girl from the tape, Dru realized. Oh, but what was her name? And she knew. Samara Morgan. She knew everything about her, including the fact that even though she had been treated horribly by both her real mother and her adoptive parents, all Samara wanted was someone who loved her. She picked up the phone again, and dialed for Darla, praying she'd pick up. There was no one there. She growled, and dialed another number. Spike's.

"_Hello?" _He said, on the other end of the phone.

"You have to help her!" Dru cried. "She's all alone… She doesn't like it… She just wants someone to love her…"

"_Drusilla? What is it? Who do I need to help?"_

"Her name's Samara. We need to help her! Come and help her!"

"_I will." _Spike said, and hung up the phone.

…

Three days later, Spike was staring out of the window of the plane. It was a nighttime flight, although by the time they arrived, it would be dawn. Luckily, it was going to be cloudy today, as it was most days in the town where Drusilla lived. Spike knew because he had checked the weather forecast, something he didn't usually do, as, living in Los Angeles, he could pretty much always count on it to be sunny.

He was unspeakably bored, and as he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, he groaned out loud. He tried sleeping countless times, but it was no use. It was just too noisy. Why did he come here? It seemed pointless to him, now that he thought about it. He didn't even know who this Samara was, or why she needed help. Any yet, there was just _something _inside him, telling him to go to Dru, to help this Samara, whoever she was. But he couldn't quite stop himself from being annoyed. Why had he come here, despite not knowing anything about what Dru wanted him to do? For all he knew, the person she wanted to help could be evil. Not to mention the fact that the last time he'd seen Drusilla, he'd been threatening to kill her to prove his love for the Slayer. Well, just _a _Slayer now. It was impossible for him to forget that for any more than a moment. Probably due to his hands being chopped off by one.

Finally, he felt to sleep. It was pretty much a miracle that he'd managed to, with all the noise going on around him. He was awoken when the plane started to land. His eyes fluttered open, vaguely like the lens of a camera when it took a picture. Outside the window, it was cloudy and overcast. So, the idiot weather people had got something right for a change, Spike thought with an amused smile. He walked off the plane, with the rest of the people, not sure where to go next. He didn't know exactly where Drusilla lived after all. It could be anywhere in this town.

He felt a hand close around his wrist. It felt warm to him, though to anyone else would have felt quite cool. When he turned around, he was almost dissapointed when he saw Drusilla. He had the sudden urge to go back to L.A.

_No, _he scolded himself. _Don't go back, you help people now. Like Angel. Except nothing like Angel. _Dru giggled. Either he had said the last part out loud, Dru had been reading his mind, or she was laughing at something completely different. Any of the three was equally likely.

"Are you coming to help her?" Dru asked.

"I guess so." Spike said. "What does she need help with?" Drusilla just smiled.

"I'll tell you in the car. I need to sit down." She led by the hand to a black car, with what appeared to be necro-tempered glass.

"You get the glass from Wolfram and Hart?" Spike asked.

"Where else?" Dru asked, a little confused. She opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door. Spike sat beside her in the passenger seat. Then he realised something.

"This is my car!" He said. Dru giggled.

"You just left it! I thought: why leave it there, when it's a perfectly good car?" She said. Neither of them spoke after that, instead just spending a while silently looking out of the window. It was a tense moment, and Spike could tell Dru had left something unspoken.

"Who is she then?" He suddenly asked. "Samara, who is she?" Dru looked at him for a moment, looking into his eyes, seeming to look inside them, into his very spirit. But only for a moment, and then her eyes were back on the road.

"Samara Morgan. She's a vengeful eight year old ghost." Dru said.

"Why's she so vengeful?" Spike asked.

"She was mistreated. Soon after she was born, her mother, Evelyn, tried to drown her in a fountain. Samara was given up for adoption, and Evelyn sent to an asylum. She was adopted by Anna and Richard Morgan, who took her to their home at Moesko Island, of the coast of Seattle. All seemed well at first, but as time passed, and Samara grew, her uncrontrollable psychic powers grew with her. She started to show people things, bad things, but she didn't mean to hurt them. It just happened. Bad things always happened around her." Dru paused for a moment. She stopped the car at a red light, and tapped her long, sharp fingernails on the dashboard as she waited for it to go amber, then green. Spike patiently waited for her to resume the story. That was unlike him. Usually he'd pester someone to get to the point. But never Dru. He was always calm with Dru.

"Eventually, Richard made her live in the barn, with the horses. She had a little room at the top, and was all alone, with nothing for company but the television. She didn't like the barn, the horses kept her awake at night. She knew that her Mummy and Daddy loved the horses more than they loved her, so she killed them. They went crazy and drowned themselves. It was all over the newspapers, and Anna was distraught. Anna and Samara were both sent to Eola County Psychiatric Hospital. While Anna was treated for depression, they kept Samara under twenty-four hour surveillance, trying to figure out how she was causing everything that happened. Richard brought them back home at some point, and the three of them went to Shelter Mountain Inn. But Richard came back alone." There was another red light, and Drusilla used it as an opportunity to turn around, and face Spike. "Anna killed Samra, Spike. She pushed her down the well. She killed Samara, and then she killed herself."

Spike just sat there for a moment, processing what he'd just heard.

"How do you know all this?" He finally asked, even though he didn't really care.

"Some of it, I just know. Some of it, I found out, newspaper articles and such. And some of… Samara told me. She entered my dreams." Drusilla said. And then Spike realised what he really wanted to know.

"What's she doing now?"

Drusilla smiled. "She's taking it back. Killing them all. With a videotape. A cursed videotape. Anyone who watches it… will die in seven days… unless they find the way out." She said. "I watched it." She pushed up the thin fabric of her sleeve, to reveal a burn, in the shape of a childs hand. She pushed it back down again and carried on driving. Neither of them said a word, during the rest of their hour long journey, just sat in earsplitting silence. Spike didn't know what Drusilla was thinking, but his mind was racing around in circles, always coming back to the same thing. That girl. Samara Morgan. He went back over what Dru had said: _She's taking it back. Killing them all. With a video tape. A cursed videotape. Anyone who watches it, will die in seven days, unless they find the way out. _What Spike didn't quite understand, was how, exactly, Samara could kill people with a cursed videotape. Who even watched videos? Well, he did. In fact, the only D.V.D player he owned was broken, but still… He stared out of the window. He was too lost in his thoughts to even notice what was going on around him.

Author Note: This chapter has been completely re-written, and made a lot longer. Is it too long for a first chapter where not much happens? I hope it wasn't too boring to sit through all that. _Or was it?_


	2. Let Me Out!

_Chapter Two_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or The Ring. If I did I'd be rich, and probably wouldn't be on writing on here.**

Please read and review!

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><p>The shadows in the well twisted in the darkness, like there were creatures inside, trying to get out. Of course, something <em>was<em> inside, and she _was_ trying to get out, but she wasn't quite a _creature. _More like a ghost. Her name was Samara. Samara was angry. She'd been trapped and couldn't get out. Every time she climbed to the top, she found that the lid of the well was impossible to move from the inside. She sat there, just staring. Staring at the same ring of light that she had seen before her death. She would find a way out. She had to. She didn't want to be stuck here. It was dark and wet. She wanted to get out and to be free. She knew she could. As long as her tape was still around, she would be. And the tape was still around. Some people were such idiots, wanting to watch a cursed tape, even though they didn't actually want to die. Even though she couldn't get out of the well, Samara could still kill them, and could still haunt them in their dreams and in their minds. And by that haunting, she knew she could make someone let her out. It was only a matter of time. She wanted someone to love who loved her. A mommy. But Rachel had trapped her. She didn't want her. Samara was angry, and when she got out of the well, someone would pay the price.

When they entered the house, Drusilla showed Spike to the room he was to stay in. It was quite bare, but there was a television.

"Watch this." Dru said, passing him the tape. She left the room, closing the door behind her and Spike inserted the tape into the VCR. He sat down on the floor as he watched. The tape only lasted a few minutes. And then, his cell phone started ringing. He picked it up.

"Seven days…" Was all that was said. He knew it was Samara. She was going to kill him. He wondered if she could actually kill him. Dru had said that Samara scared her victims to death and stopped their hearts, by revealing her face. But a vampire couldn't be scared to death. Would Samara just have him scared so badly he'd go insane? Or would she find some other way to kill him?

He didn't want to waste time thinking of that. He had been awake all day, and he was tired. He walked over to the bed, and, not even bothering to get undressed, climbed under the covers. He closed his eyes, and within mere minutes he was asleep.

While he was asleep, he dreamt. He didn't know it was a dream though. He was lying in his bed, seemingly having just woken up. He sat up, and turned to get out of bed. Then froze. There was a chair opposite him which hadn't been there before. On that chair, was a girl, with dark hair and wearing a white dress. She was surrounded by a puddle of water, and her dark hair covered her face.

"Samara." Spike knew it was her, and he thought she acknowledged that he knew her name, despite her giving no indication of even having heard him. She just sat there, silently.

"Why are you here?" He asked her. He stood up, taking a step towards her. And she grabbed him. She had a surprisingly strong grip for an eight year old ghost.

"Help...me." She said. Her voice was rasping, but clearly a little girls voice. "Let me...out!"

That was where the dream ended. Spike opened his eyes and glanced at the clock hanging over him on the wall. It was five o' clock. He had only been sleeping for an hour.

...

Jenny hurried home as fast as she could. She was late, and it was pouring down with rain. She hated her life. Today she'd come to school, and gotten in detention. Why? Because a girl was picking on her. Well, not quite that, more like because a girl was picking on her and she'd fought back.

But there was one good thing that had come of today. The videotape her friend had copied for her. She had heard the rumours that it was cursed, of course, but she didn't believe that.

When she got home, the first thing she did was run to her room and insert the tape into the VCR. She was quite dissapointed, as it wasn't nearly as scary as her friend had made it out to be. Then the phone rang. Jenny lazily picked it up.

"Seven days..." It was a little girls voice.

"That bitch!" Jenny said. "Making her little sister prank call me, just so I'd think I was cursed!"

Little did she know, it wasn't her friends sister on the phone.

...

Dru glided into the room, and sat down on the edge of Spike's bed.

"Are you awake?" She asked.

"I'm awake." Spike replied. "In my dream... I saw her. I saw Samara, Dru."

"Did she say anything?" Drusilla said, crawling closer to Spike.

"She told me to help her. Told me to let her out." He said.

"Let her out of the well?" Dru asked.

"I assume so." For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Drusilla chose to break the silence.

"We're going to Shelter Mountain Inn." She said. "We have to let her out."

"No, you can't. Last time she was out of the well, she killed people. Won't she do the same anyway?" Spike asked. Drusilla giggled.

"No, no Spike. The tape is cursed, didn't you know? It kills people wherever Samara is." Spike saw a smile spread wide on Dru's face, and he wondered what he had gotten himself into. Then again, was this any more complicated than his so called 'ordinary' life?

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><p>And that's the second chapter done! I'm fairly sure I want to make Spike evil, but please can someone apart from my friend please tell me!<p> 


	3. The Meeting of Two Vampires and a Ghost

_Chapter Three_

**Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS or The Ring.**

Dru strechted out on the sofa, leaning her head back, as though she were listening to something. Spike sat down on the floor in front of the sofa.

"You listening to something?" He asked.

"She's down there. She wants to get out." Dru said. "Get her out for me?"

Spike bit his lip. He didn't know what to do. Should he do what Dru said, and let Samara out of the well? Or should he let her stay down there? It was a hard descision to make.

…

Samara lurked beneath the water, waiting. Someone was going to let her out. Two vampires. She smiled. She couldn't wait.

...

Jenny looked behind her. She didn't know why but she couldn't shake this feeling that something was watching her. She tried to ignore it as she got on the bus to school. She stared out the window, wondering if things were going to get any better. She could count the good things in her life on one hand, and she was sure that was not a good sign. She hated her life.

...

Spike had managed to break through the floorboards of the cabin, to find the well beneath them. He slid down and stood beside it. The lid was closed, and Spike knew that if he opened it, Samara would be able to get out. He started to slide the lid of the well across. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, and he didn't know why he was. But he was. The lid moved quicker than it usually would have, due to Spike's vampiric strength. He didn't stop until he heard the lid drop down on the other side of the well.

"You did it!" Spike turned to see Drusilla standing above him on the floorboards. She clappped her hands together and bounced up and down. "You let her out!" She stopped clapping and leaped down beside him. She climbed up onto the rim of the well, and started walking around it.

"Be careful." Spike instucted, although he wasn't really that worried. He knew that if Dru fell down she could climb out, unlike Samara.

…

Yes! Freedom! At last. Samara cimbed as fast as she could. She'd missed this. Being able to actually come out and kill people, instead of just let the curse kill them. As she walked forward, she saw her idiotic victim. She walked towards him, watching his expression, his mask of fear. She smiled slightly at the thought that that fear would soon intensify. As she began to crawl through the television, she smirked again. He was such a coward. He was screaming and crying, but seemed to be frozen in place. Samara walked slowly towards him, savouring his fear. Her hair parted, and his mouth opened wide in a scream. But no sound came out. He was dead, with the same mutilated face as the rest of Samara's victims. When she climbed back into the television, she thought, _It's about time I pay these two vampires a visit._

…

Spike walked back into their living room at home with burgers, chips, pepsi and blood, which he put on the coffee table and shared out between himself and Dru. He reached for the T.V control and was a about to just put it down when he saw that the T.V was on, but when he realised what was on the T.V the control just slid from his hand to the floor. It was the well. The same well he had opened ealier that day.

"It's her! She's coming!" Dru said, gleefully clapping her hands.

"What day is it?" Spike asked her.

"The fifth for me, second for you." Dru said. Then she realised what Spike thinking of and giggled. "Oh, don't worry. She's not coming to kill us."

Spike watched on as the little girl from his dream crawled out from the well and walked towards them. Her hair was tangled and her dress was filthy. As she drew nearer, Spike knew what was going to happen. Her hair came first, hanging out of the T.V and brushing the floor. Second was her arms, and then the rest of her crawled out. She brought herself up to full height and walked towards them. She stopped when she was on the other side of the coffee table.

"You... helped me." She said. "Why?"

"Because you needed helping." Spike said. "You were stuck down there all alone. That can't' have been pleasant, not one bit."

"It...wasn't." Samara said. She said nothing else and made no other move. And then, the wall behind her seemed to catch fire. The fire grew and spread, until it took the shape of a tree. A tree on fire.

"That tree...It was at Shelter Mountain Inn, outside the cabin." Spike remarked.

"And on the wall of her barn." Drusilla said. And then, Samara just... blinked out. Like a T.V being turned off. And the T.V did just that.

"Well. That was odd." Spike said. Dru looked at him like he was the mad one.

...

"We should probably copy the tape today." Dru said. "Or I'll die tomorrow. You don't want that to happen, do you?" Spike shook his head. The sun had just gone down and they were out getting breakfast. In other words, blood. They were walking through the centre of town, the highly populated area, looking for someone to eat. Spike kept getting this feeling that said he shouldn't be doing this, but he ignored it. He didn't know why. They found a couple kissing in the park and crept up behind them.

"Look at them." Drusilla said. "So lost in each other. They'll not notice as we rip their throats out." She shifted into game face and Spike did the same. They bit into the couple's necks and drank deeply until the bodies hit the floor. They walked away. Nobody would ever know how they'd been killed. They'd assume it was an animal attack, or something of that sort.

...

Jenny stood still. She was holding a video camera. She was watching the video. That seems perfectly mundane, until you realise that the fly from the video kept coming out of the screen. Jenny kept replaying it, again and again. How was that possible?

...

When they got back from having their breakfast, Spike and Dru each copied the tape.

"Who do I show it to?" Spike asked.

A toothy grin spread across Dru's face, and she started to giggle, and Spike knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Oh god, no." He said in horror.


	4. To Stay and To Live

_Chapter Four_

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><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>**: I don't own BtVS or The Ring.**

Buffy Summers sat at the table eating dinner with her sister, Dawn, when the phone rang. She picked it up.

"Hello?" She said.

"Hey." She gasped. There was no way she could forget that voice, not after…

"Spike! How are you…? But… You're dead!" She said.

"I'm not dead. Well, no more dead than I've always been. Just thought you might like to watch this tape I copied. I've had it sent to your house. Bye." And then he hung up. Buffy stared at the phone. When she walked back to the table, she realised that Dawn had been staring at her.

"Spike's alive?" Was all she could say. Buffy nodded.

"Apparently so."

…

Jenny felt strange all day. She didn't know why. She kept seeing things that weren't really there. She knew they weren't there because no one saw them but her. She went to bed early that day, desperate to escape. Unfortunately, things were even worse in her dreams. She dreamt that was in an enclosed space, with water at the bottom. A well, she guessed. When she looked up, all she could see was a ring of light. She realised it was the same ring from the tape. She heard something moving underwater, and then she heard it break the surface and knew she was in trouble. She tried to climb out, but she just couldn't get up. The walls were too slippery. She looked behind her, and what she saw took her breath away. It was a girl, who looked about twelve. Her hair was covering her face, and she was wearing a filthy white dress. Jenny didn't know why she was so scared of her, but she was. The girl reached out and grabbed her. That was when Jenny woke up. She looked down at her arm, half expecting to find a bruise where the girl had grabbed her in the dream. But what she saw was worse. A burn, in the shape of a child's hand. Jenny then realised something. That tape wasn't a prank. She buried her head in her hands. She hated her life. That didn't mean she wanted to die.

…

Over the next four days, not much happened. Spike and Dru didn't see Samara or anything else from the tape (Spike thought he'd seen the centipede, but it turned out that it was an actual real centipede).

…

Meanwhile, when Jenny got home from school, she was terrified. It was the seventh day, and she hadn't copied the tape. She knew she was going to die. She sat on the stairs. When she heard footsteps behind her, she knew it was the end. She looked behind her, and saw the girl from the tape and her dream. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would fail. And it did just that when the dark mass of hair parted to reveal a face so hideously deformed that it scared her to death. Hours later, her body was found by her mother, who, for once, was sober. Hardly anybody showed up to her funeral a few days later.

…

It was midnight. The moon was shining and the stars were twinkling. Drusilla was lying outside among the long grass and flowers. There were thorny roses that scratched her, but they were beautiful. Beautiful and dangerous. Just like her. But she liked the way the grass tickled her skin. She's liked that sensation ever since she was a small child. Her sisters used to tease her for it, but she didn't care. She lay still and listened. The stars were singing to her. She loved their voices, but she didn't quite understand what they were saying. She knew the words, but not what they meant. They were saying something about a girl. They sang:

"She's not done Dru. Soon she'll show you."

…

Three days later, Dawn got home to find her older sister dead in a cupboard. Her face was mutilated and deformed in a strange way. It looked like she'd been scared to death. Dawn screamed.

A few days later, she phoned Spike to let him know.

…

Spike put the phone down. He had to say he was a good actor. He'd managed to fool Dawn into believing he hadn't known about Buffy's death. She was twenty-four years old now, but she was still just as easy to lie to as she had been when she was fourteen.

He thought it over. He'd done it. He'd finally killed Buffy Summers. Three Slayers. He could hardly believe it. It was a little odd though. He thought of the methods of killing. Drained of blood, broken neck and… a cursed videotape. He could almost laugh. Almost.

Of course it wasn't really him who had killed her. It was Samara. But he had given her the tape, knowing the consequences, and not bothering to tell that she only had to copy it to survive. That made him guilty in part. He felt proud of himself, in a way. He had killed the Slayer, even after what they'd had. But he felt remorse too. He didn't like it. He wanted it to go. To just set with the sun, so he'd never have to feel the horrible emotion ever again.

…

When he walked upstairs at sunrise to go to bed, there was water leaking out from all sides of the door.

"Well, that's not right." He said. He tried to open the door, but it opened inward and there was a wall of water behind it, rendering the opening of said door almost completely impossible. So Spike then proceeded to rip the door off its hinges. The water went everywhere, completely drenching Spike and everything around him. The T.V wasn't working much, because of the water damage, but he could just about make out the image of a well between the static. But Samara was nowhere to be seen. Or so he thought. As he passed the en-suite bathroom, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. A streak of black on the white of the porcelain sink. If the flooded room hadn't done it, this alerted him to something being wrong. He turned his head. The black streak he had seen was a clump of long black hair. He walked into the bathroom to get a closer look. The sink was filled with the dark hair, and it was moving. It was moving upward towards Spike. He saw that the hair was attached to a head, and was completely covering the face. The head, he saw, was attached to a body. As the body climbed out of the sink, Spike backed away. It was Samara. Spike knew that she was staring at him unblinkingly, even though her face was obscured. For one evanescent moment, Spike wondered what her face looked like beneath the veil of her dark hair. But then he decided he'd probably be better off without that knowlegde If that was how she killed her victims, he would end up either insane or comatose.

Samara walked towards him.

"You let me out." She said. "Do… you care…for me?" She asked.

"Of course." Spike said. He wasn't lying. He didn't know why, but something about Samara just made him like her. But he was also terrified of her.

"Does she?"

"Who, Dru? 'Course she does! She's the one who called me up to come here." Spike said. Samara walked past him and he watched her go. She walked slowly, but still got to her destination quickly.

…

Drusilla sat up as she heard… something behind her. No, not heard. This thing made no sound. She sensed it. It was Samara.

"Hello, Samara!" Dru said, as though greeting an old friend.

"I want… to stay. I want… to live." Samara said. And then she blinked out like a T.V again. Drusilla was overjoyed. She clapped her hands. Samara wanted to stay! They could be a like a family! She would be the Mummy, Spike would be the Daddy, and Samara would be the daughter. It sounded delightful. She couldn't wait to tell Spike. But Samara had said she wanted to live. How could they do that?

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><p>Is it any good? I really want to know. I have hits for this, so I know someone's reading. Why can't they tell me what they think?<p> 


	5. Rider and Aiden

_Chapter Five_

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or The Ring. I do own Bronwyn Rider. I also own Jenny, but she's dead.**

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><p>The corpses were always decomposed and, well… dead. But Rider liked her work. She didn't know why. Her ex-boyfriend, Damien, had teased her, calling her Dr. Frankenstein. She felt a tear well up in her eye as she thought of him leaving.<p>

"Bronwyn Rider." Rider looked up as she heard her name spoken. There was a man and a woman standing outside.

"Come in, what can I do for you?" She said. "And don't ever call me Bronwyn. Only Damien… Call me _Rider, _okay? My name's Rider." Rider took a deep breath. She kept doing that. "What are your names?"

The man and woman walked inside, and the man closed the door.

"I'm Spike," He said. "And this is Drusilla. What you can do for us, is bring this girl back to life. And make her not rotting." At that point Spike pulled out a skeleton from his coat. "How much do you want?"

"20 dollars." Rider said. Spike passed her ten.

"You can have the rest when your done." He said. Rider set to work on the girl. She sat down cross legged beside her, placed her hands on her and began to chant. The girls hair started to grow first, and then her flesh. Very soon, she was completely alive. But she lay still.

Rider's head snapped up.

"She's a ghost." She said. "She could be _anywhere_."

"She followed us here." Spike said. "And she's right behind you." Rider turned her head slowly behind her, and felt slightly freaked out when she saw the girl. And she knew most people would have been more than slightly freaked out. Rider didn't scare easy. That was probably a side effect of having been a necromancer for ten years, ever since she was eight years old. The girl looked a lot like the girl lying on the floor, but she was deathly pale, covered in dirt, and had dripping wet hair hiding her entire face from veiw. And then she was gone. Rider turned around to see that the girl she had resurrected was standing up. She hugged Drusilla, and said:

"Mommy!" Rider was surprised.

"She's your daughter? But she looks too old to be your daughter!" She said.

"She's eight, she just looks really old for her age," Spike said. "And she's adopted anyway. That's why we have different surnames."

"What's her name?" Rider asked.

"Samara Morgan." Spike said. He passed Rider the remaining ten dollars and the three of them left the house.

…

Aiden Keller sat on the steps outside the new house. Rachel was inside, unpacking. She'd asked Aiden to help, but he'd refused. He sat staring across the street. A car came down the road and parked outside the house directly opposite his own. A man and a woman stepped out of a car. The man wore a black leather duster and had peroxide blond hair. That was slightly strange, but not so strange that Aiden was forced to dwell on the fact. The thing that took his breath away, was the child who then stepped out. She had long dark brown hair, dark eyes and pale skin, and wore a white dress. Aiden recognized her instantly. He could never forget _her. _It was Samara.

Aiden couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was Samara. And she was alive. She wasn't a ghost. And the man and woman who were with her… there was something about them, and Aiden couldn't work out what exactly it was. They disn't seem human somehow.

…

The next day, it was time for Samara to start school. She was introduced to the whole school in assembly, and she recognxed someone there, but at first she couldn't quite put her finger on who it was. Then it hit her. Aiden. Aiden Keller, the boy she had posessed. She clenched her fists. She didn't like to remember that time. Rachel had trapped her down the well, and she had been down there for years. Except that time, it was worse somehow. After a small period of freedom, being trapped had seemed horrible. She was the happiest now that she had been in… forever, it must have been. She'd never really been happy. Not much. But now she was sure Spike and Dru cared for her. They'd let her out of the well. She hoped they'd look after her better than Evelyn, Richard and Anna, and Rachel had. At least Rachel had the excuse of trying to protect Aiden. What excuse did the others have? They didn't have one. Her psychic powers maybe, but all they had to do was find someone who could teach her to control her powers. Why had that never occurred to them? Because they were stupid. Sometimes, Samara thought that everyone except for her was either stupid or crazy. It certainly seemed that way.

…

"What are you doing here?" Samara turned to see Aiden standing behind her. It was he who had asked the question. It was break time, and Samara knew that Aiden had actively sought her out to ask her this, and that he hadn't just randomely passed her in the corridor. Besides, his locker was on the other side of the school.

"I go to school here." Samara said, truthfully.

"But you're dead." Aiden said.

"I'm not anymore." Samara said.

"Who were those people you were with…?"

"They're my Mommy and Daddy." Samara said. Aiden was going to say something more, but he was interruped by a girl a little younger than him with greasy light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and glasses. The glasses magnified her hazel eyes, making them look weird. The two of them walked off, and Samara looked on after them. The girld with the glasses did most of the talking. Aiden was just as monosyllibic as usual.

…

When Samara got home , she went straight to the living room and turned on T.V. Without going anywhere near the T.V or the control. Spike, who was sitting opposite her, rolled his eyes, and then he just turned them towards the T.V as though nothing unusual had happened.

Spike yawned.

"I need to go to bed. Wake me up when you want dinner." He said, and left the room.

"Goodnight Daddy." Samara said. He poked his head back in.

"Not really night." He said. Samara smiled at him in a way that made it seem as though she wanted him to leave the room. Which he did. Samara turned her sttention back to the T.V. She was watching the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy, her favourite show.

…

It was eleven o' clock and Rider was sitting in the branches of a tree, over looking a lake. She liked it here. It was peaceful. She saw the moon reflected in the dark water., like an eye staring at her. She heard rustling behind her, but she ignored it. She knew it was nothing. Sometimes she missed feeling scared. It seemed like such a rare feeling these days. She didn't quite remember exactly when it had faded away. Maybe four years ago? That seemed about right. She thought it had been about four years or so since she had last felt truly scared. A strong wind blew, pushing Rider's long, tangled mane of brown hair over her face. Like that girl's.


	6. Looking For Spike

_Chapter Six_

**Disclaimer****: I don't own BtVS or The Ring. **

Author Note: About the last chapter. I know an eight year old and a seventeen year old wouldn't be in the same school, but for the sake of the plot, the primary school is in with the secondary school. On with the story!

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><p>Rider riffled through the newspapers laid out on her desk. She was trying to find out as much as she could about this Samara Morgan. Something about her just didn't seem right. So far, her search had been fruitless. It had turned up no significant results, other than the fact that Samara was the adopted daughter of Richard and Anna Morgan. But Rider wasn't going to give up so easily.<p>

…

When Rachel Keller came to collect Aiden from school (he still didn't have his own car), she got a nasty surprise. She saw a little girl, who looked twelve but she knew was younger. She had dark brown hair which looked almost black, and which obscured the sides of her face from view. Her skin was pale, and she was wearing a white dress. She saw her run over to a man and a woman who Rachel had never seen before. The man had peroxide blond hair, but that wasn't nearly as strange as the fact that Rachel had seen Samara there. Alive.

"Aiden, have you see seen her?" Rachel asked Aiden as he stepped into the car and they started to drive away. The car Samara had walked into was right behind them, and Rachel kept looking in the rear view mirror. She felt like Samara was staring right at her.

"Yeah." He said. "I've seen _her_." Rachel was scared. What would Samara do now?

…

After hours of research – days, even – Rider thought she had finally found what she had been looking for. The Morgan's had owned a ranch, with famous horses, which then became even more famous when they went crazy and killed themselves. But the horses weren't the only ones going crazy. Samara had been admitted to a mental hospital the year she died, 1978, and, having dug around her house, Rider had found several things. Including where to find Samara's birth mother.

…

Samara and Dru were shopping for clothes. Spike hadn't been interested, and had stayed home. Samara found a black knee length skirt that she liked, and a white shirt, which was like a little girl's version of a poet shirt. She aslo chose a cardigan and a black dress. Dru found a pair of boots she liked, and they went over to pay for them. When they walked out of the shop, Samara felt a hard blow to the back of her head. And then she couldn't see.

…

Samara woke up in a dark room. She couldn't see anything

"Mommy?" She asked into the darkness.

"I'm here, Samara.." Dru said. "They're all looking at us. The dark ones, left behind and forgotten, discarded like an old piece of furniture."

The door opened and Samara squinted against the bright light that flooded the room. The door was closed again and a light switched on. It was only a dim, flickering and hardly working naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, but it allowed Samara and Dru to get a good look at their captor.

He was tall, and quite muscular. His hair was long, dark, and came almost to his shoulders. He was dressed all in black: dirty old black jeans, black combat boots, a black turtleneck, and a long black leather jacket that wasn't quite long enough to be considered a coat. His eyes were grey and the hatred contained within them was ablosolute. His mouth was pulled into a grimace that matched his eyes. His skin was not naturally pale, but it looked as though he had not gotten a tan in his entire life. His skin was rough and his face was unshaven. He had a long scar streatching from the top of his forehead, then dissapearing into his jacket, and then reapearing again out of the sleeves, finally ending at just before the knuckle of his middle finger. His fingernails were all broken, some of them only part of the way down, some torn off completely. His nose appeared to have been broken at least once. He walked towards them. He was limping, but only slightly, like it was a a wound that would soon heal, or was already healing.

"What do you want?" Samara asked, glaring at him with all the hatred she could muster. Which was a lot. "Money?"

"I don't need money." He said. His voice was deep and rasping. His teeth, Samara could see, were yellowed. About three were broken, and two missing. "Where's Spike?" He asked.

Samara didn't know what he wanted with Spike, and she didn't care. "We're not…going…to tell…you!" She said.

She spied the floor for a potential weapon, then realised she didn't need one. She though as hard as she could trying to remembe. She conjured an image of her own ghostly face, and pushed it into the mans mind. For a moment, he was so still, that Samara wondered if she had somehow accidently paralyzed him. His face seemed just as frozen as the rest of him. His expression had changed from one of hate and anger mingled with sorrow and despair, to one of utter fear. But then he looked at her and laughed as her reminded himself that it wasn't reality and only a vision Samara had forced into his mind.

"Cute." He said. "Trying to fight back, are you? Look, I don't want to hurt you… Well, okay, I do, I'd just rather not. Tell me where Spike is, and I won't." Samara didn't say a word. He laughed again. "Just remember… This is your fault. If you'd told me where Spike was, this wouldn't have happened." He grabbed a clump of hair and pulled, forcing Samara to follow along with him. She saw a bucket filled with water. The man forced her to sit down in front of this, and he held her head under. Samara tried to get free, so that she could breathe, but it was futile. He was too strong. She stayed under, unable to breathe, for what seemed like forever. When she was nearly out cold, her head was pulled up to the surface. She gasped for air, trying to fill her lungs. Too soon, she was pushed under water again, for longer this time. The process was repeated several times. Samara was aware of Drusilla shouting, but she couldn't quite understand the words she was saying. She couldn't help but think back to the well, about how she had been imprisoned there for seven days, trying to escape, and each time falling back down to the water, until she was finally freed by death. She knew that death would never come to her this time. Finally, her head broke the surface again, and stayed there. She breathed in as deeply as she could, grateful for the glorious air that filled her aching lungs.

"Tell me where he is." The man said, sounding almost bored. That was when Samara's anger reached its limit. She heard the man cry out in pain behind her. He stumbled back, allowing Samara to get away. She didn't know what she had done, but she did know that it was she who had done it. Dru gabbed her by the hand and they ran out of the door as fast as they could.

…

Spike paced up and down the room, trying to make sense of what Samara and Drusilla were telling him.

"Did he tell you his name?" He asked.

"No." Samara said, her voice cold as ice.

"What did he look like?" Samara explained what the man had looked like. She mentioned the scar, his hair, his clothes, his nails, anything that would make Spike think he recognised the person. But he didn't.


	7. Revelation

_Chapter Seven_

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own BtVS or The Ring. I'm fairly certain those honours go to Joss Whedon and DreamWorks respectively.**

Author Note: This is the longest chapter yet! Yay! Also, you find out who Damien is, and why he's looking for Spike. I think this took quite a while to write. I haven't updated since Thursday!

* * *

><p>Damien cursed the rising sun, and stormed back inside. He hated this. This thing that couldn't truly be called a life. No. For a life you need a beating heart. And people, other people around you who you could count on. Damien had no one. The mirror was on the wall, taunting him. He drew back his fist and shattered the cursed thing. He picked up a shard of it, turning it over in his hands. He squeezed hard, and blood dripped from his palm, staining the purity of the glass he held in his hand. He dropped it onto the floor and walked upstairs. He didn't feel like himself anymore. He hadn't in decades. He felt like some kind of zombie.<p>

…

Rider banged her fists on the door, screaming Spike's name. He hurried down the stairs and opened the door.

"Shhh. What do you want?" He asked.

"It's about that man that was looking for you." Rider said. Spike frowned.

"How do you know about that?"He asked.

"I just do. I know who he is. And why he's looking for you." This caught Spike's attention. He led Rider inside and they sat on the sofa. She took a deep breath, then began to speak.

"His names Damien. He's a vampire, and I'm not sure you want me to say this, but you're the one who sired him. It was quite a long time ago, in the eighties or something, I don't know, seventies maybe? You slaughtered his entire family, and made him a vampire. He's come here for revenge. He's been looking for you for years. About ten years ago, maybe a little less, he thought he'd finally found you. But he got held up and had to start looking again. And now he's here." Spike looked down, and then looked Rider in the eye.

"It's my fault." He said. "If I hadn't done that… they wouldn't have been hurt. But it was fun. I enjoyed that day. And so did Dru. But I don't want to see them hurt."

"You remember?" Rider asked.

"I don't remember what they all looked like. I never do. Well, I remember Nikki Wood and Xin Rong, but they were Slayers. That's something to remember." He pasued for a moment. "Why do I do this?" He whispered. "Why do I keep killing? It doesn't help, not one little bit! I need to stop!" He voice got progressively louder as he went on, until he was almost shouting when he said he needed to stop. Then his voice dropped to a whisper, and he sounded like he was going to cry. "I can't stop. Why can't I stop?"

…

Rachel was sitting upstairs, staring out of the window. It was raining. The rain fell so much, that it was like somebody had just tipped a bucket of water out of the sky. Or like the well was upside down above the sky, and all the water was pouring out of it. Along with Samara.

"Rachel?" She knew it was Aiden, but she turned to look at him anyway.

"Aiden. What-what are you doing here?" She asked.

"You're stuttering." He pointed out. "Ijust came to tell you I made dinner. And there's someone on the phone for you." Rachel watched as Aiden walked away. Nervously, she walked over to the phone. Her heart was pounding as she picked it up.

"_Why did you do that?" _Rachel sighed with releif when it wasn't Samara. She didn't recognise that voice though, so maybe that relief would be short lived.

"Do what, what did I do?" She asked the unknown voice.

"_You kept her there. You shut her in, so she'd never get out. So she'd always see the ring." _Rachel had been right. The feeling of relief had been very short lived. This person, whoever she was, knew about Samara. What Rachel had just heard terrified her, so much so that she had trouble saying the next question.

"How-how do you kn-know?" The next words said terrified Rachel even more.

"_She told me." _Rachel allowed the phone to slip from her hand. She sat there for a moment, hardly moving. She kept replaying the phone call in her head. Whoever this person was, she not only knew _about _Samara, she actually _knew _her. Had actually spoken to her. Rachel shook her head, and closed her eyes tightly, hoping that when she opened them it would have all been a bad dream, and she'd wake up and everything would be all right. But Rachel had no such luck. When she opened her eyes, she was still in the same room, the phone was still on the floor and she was still filled with the same sense of dread. She heard the woman on the other end of the phone, asking if she was still there.

She picked it back up, her hands shaking.

"_Why did you do it? You didn't say…All I wanted was my mommy." _Rachel started gasping for breath, but somehow still felt like she was suffocating. The voice was different. It was no longer a woman's, but a child's voice. And not just any child. _"Rachel? Rachel?" _Rachel ignored Samara calling her name. She threw the phone against the wall, trying to destroy it. She buried her face in her hands, allowing some tears to fall. Why did it seem like Samara followed her wherever she went?

…

Seven days after she had seen the tape, Ashleigh Smith was sitting outside in the garden. It was midday, and she was sitting with her older sister Natlie, who was thirteen. They were eating ice-creams and telling jokes. But their happiness didn't last long. Ashleigh saw something moving in the shadows. She thought at first that maybe it was just some animal, and it wouldn't harm her, but then it – she – was right in front of her. Ashleigh was filled with terror as she beheld the girl standing before her. Even though it was a sunny day, the sun did not shine on the girl. She reminded Ashleigh of the horrifying tape she had seen. There was something about the girl that she recognised. She couldn't figure it out at first, but then it hit her. It was Samara Morgan, the girl who'd given her the tape. But she looked different. She was dripping water everywhere. Her soaked hair looked black, and it was covering her face like a veil. Her dress was filthy, and looked closer to grey than white. Her fingernails were torn, and bloodied. Her feet were bare. For some reason, the bare feet took up most of Ashleigh's attention, despite her being able to see obvious rotting on her arms and legs, which seemed wrinkled, but not from age. Samara was terrifying, and Ashleigh didn't know why. She could hear both herself and Natalie screaming, but she wasn't really focused on that. She tried to back away, but ended up tripping over and landing flat on the ground. Samara moved towards her. She was looking down, so her hair completely covered her face, but she started to look up. The dark hair was parting, exposing a horrifying face. Ashleigh felt a fear greater than any she had felt, ever before in her life. She lay still.

Natalie knew her sister was dead. She was standing completely still, right beside her sister. She didn't know what was up with Ashleigh's face, but it scared her so much.

…

Rachel was waiting outside the door. A woman came and led her in to see the girl. The door was closed, but the woman remained in the room.

"It's Natalie, right?" Rachel said, sitting down on the other side of the table to the girl. Natalie didn't make any move to either agree or deny Rachel.

"Your sister… did she say anything about a tape?" Rachel asked Natalie, leaning towards her. Natalie nodded.

"She said… she had seven days. I didn't… believe her. Until…she died. That girl… She looked dead." Rachel understood what Natalie was saying, unlike the woman standing near the door.

"Miss Keller." She said. "I think you ought to leave now." The tone of her voice told Rachel that what she said was more than just a suggestion.

"Right. I'll go." Rachel said, getting up from the chair. "It was nice meeting you Natalie."

…

Samara sat staring at the T.V, without really watching it. Earlier, she had gotten Dru to call Rachel for her, trying to find out why Rachel had done what she did. But Rachel didn't like her. Samara had tried speaking to Rachel herself, but Rachel had broken the phone. Samara didn't quite understand why Rachel didn't like her. She'd tried to make Rachel like her six years ago, but all she got was stuck in the well again. But there were other rings, who had others tapes, and as long as the tape still survived, she still survived. Rachel hadn't known that. No one had. Despite her hatred of the foolish rings, she felt grateful to them in a way. If they hadn't been around, she would not be here now.

…

1985

There was screaming. All around, everywhere he went, there was screaming. There was so much blood. As he approached the lake, he saw that it didn't look like water anymore. Water wasn't red. The entire village seemed to have been layed to waste. Damien saw his sister, Erin, lying on the lake. He knew the blood wasn't all hers, but some of it definitely was. He walked over to her. Her hair, formerly blond, was red with blood. He pulled her out of the lake, and almost threw up when he saw that she was still alive. There was blood in her mouth, and Damien didn't know if it was from the lake or if it was hers. He held her in his arms. He cried as he felt her weakening. He could feel her pulse. It was faint, and getting fainter. His sister was dead. He let her fall from his grip, back into the blood red water. He heard footsteps behind him. He turned around, wondering if anyone had made it out alive. But the man he saw was not from his village.

He was about average height, quite muscular build, with short black hair, although it had light brown roots. His eyes were an icy blue, staring at Damien with curiosity. He was dressed ina ll black: black combat boots, a black duster, black jeans with a studded belt, and a black T-shirt. He was smirking.

"Did you kill her." Damien said. It wasn't a question. He already knew the answer.

"Yeah, I killed her." The man said, still smiling at him. Damien felt a sudden hatred for the man.

"She was my sister." He whispered. "YOU KILLED MY SISTER!" He got to his feet and lunged at the man, who laughed, and threw him to the ground.

"Spike… what are you doing here? You're missing all the fun." There was a woman in the trees. Damien assumed she was talking about the man. So his name was Spike.

"Just walking around. This place is nearly wiped out. Have you seen anyone alive, Dru? I think this boy might be the last one." Damien listened to every word the two of them were saying. Spike and Dru. Those were their names.

"I'm not a boy." He said. Spike looked surprised.

"What, do you mean you're a girl? You don't look like one." Spike said. Damien wondered how he could joke at a time like this.

"No. I mean I'm twenty-one, I'm a man, not a boy." Damien said. Spike walked closer to him.

"How'd you fancy eternal life?" He asked, kneeling down to face him. Damien shook his head.

"Idon't care about my life. I only care about my family!" Damien said. Tears were streaming down his face. He didn't even really notice the fact that eternal life was normally something in movies or books. All he could think about was the fact that his family was dead. Everyone was dead. His mind would not fit around anything else. He kept thinking that he shouldn't still be alive, that he should be dead, like the rest of them. But he couldn't bring himself to say it. And even if he did, he doubted that this Spike was the kind of person to let him have what he wanted without blackmail. Even if what he wanted…was death.

Spike was smiling at him, exposing white teeth, which was rather surprising considering that his breath reeked of tobacco. And then his face changed. The teeth came first, elongating and sharpening themselves into fangs. Damien normally would have felt scared, but he didn't think fear could ever touch him again, he was too filled with anger and despair. The eyes came next. They went from blue, to green, and finally to yellow. The green was very easy to miss, and if Damien had blinked he would have missed it. Then there was something odd happening to his brow. Spike kept grinning the whole time, and as he sank his fangs into Damien's neck, Damien cried out in pain. It was the worst sensation he had ever felt, and as the teeth drew away from him, he was glad. He thought that death would take him, and that he wouldn't have to suffer anymore, and he could see his family again in whatever afterlife there was. But he was wrong. He saw Spike bring his own wrist to his mouth, and tore it open with his fangs. He pushed his wrist into Damien's mouth, forcing him to drink. Damien didn't want to. He wanted to drown on it. But he couldn't. His body's survival instinct was too high. He drank and drank. The last thing he remembered after that was the cold, bitter taste of the blood.


	8. Fear

_Chapter Eight_

**Disclaimer: ****I don't own BtVS or The Ring. **

Author Note: I'm sorry it's late. I'm probably mainly speaking to PunkVampy here, though.

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><p>Dawn Summers stared out of the window of the plane. She'd heard a rumour the other day about a tape. Not just any tape though. A tape that killed you seven days after you watched it. That had made Dawn curious. She knew that Buffy had been sent a videotape a week before she had died. She'd thought that was a little odd, considering how she knew some people who didn't even own a VCR, and she'd met a little girl a while ago who didn't even know what a videotape was. Even stranger, it was unmarked. Even stranger, her sister had got a phone call afterwards, just as the urban legend said. And then a week later, she'd died. So Dawn had found out who had sent the tape, and it turned out it was Spike. She could only hope he didn't know about the cursed tape.<p>

…

"Come on, Damien, pick up! Pick up the god damned phone!" Rider yelled, knowing it wouldn't have any effect unless Damien could actually hear her. After a while she gave up, deciding that she'd call him later. Maybe he'd pick up the phone then. Rider decided she'd try to do something else. But what was there to do? Most of her work was at night. She didn't really have any hobbies. She hadn't in a long time. And then it hit her. The videotape. She wanted to find out what was on there, and it would keep her occupied for a couple of minutes. Rider already knew that she had to copy the tape to survive, and even if she didn't, she could bring herself back from the dead. She had done before. She didn't like being dead. Of course, nobody did. That's why the dead were always looking for a way to come back. Like Samara.

Rider walked into the living room and put the tape into the VCR. For a few seconds, the screen was only static. And then Rider could see a ring of light against blackness. The images quickly changed, most of them seemingly having no connection to each other whatsoever. The phone rang.

"So she's still up to her old tricks." Rider whispered.

"Seven days." There was no denying it. That was the voice of the little girl. Samara. Then she hung up, leaving Rider to sit there, just thinking.

…

Rider ran as fast as she could, despite the blood pounding in her veins, and her breath, gasping for more air. It was the seventh day already. She had searched for someone to watch it, but it was only then that she had realised that she didn't know many people. The ones she did know either hated her or she had no idea where they were. But she wasn't going to give up. She ran to the door and pounded her fists on it as hard as she could.

"Rider?" Spike was opening the door. Rider ran on in, without an invitation, but Spike pulled her back. "What are you doing here?"

"I need…to speak…with Samara." She said, still panting, almost unable to get the words out.

"She's upstairs. Her room is next to the bathroom." Spike said, releasing her from his grasp, though still giving Rider a suspicious look as she walked upstairs.

…

Samara was staring out of the window, singing softly to herself.

"Here we go, the world is spinning. When it sto-"

"Samara." She turned to see the necromancer – what was her name? Rider, that was it. Bronwyn Rider.

"What is it?" Samara asked her, slightly annoyed. What had she come for?

"What would happen…if you watched your own tape?" Rider asked.

"I'd die. Same as people normally do. Unless I copied it. I wouldn't get the phone call. Instead of me crawling out of the T.V, I'd just drop dead. Which would make me come back as a ghost again. Why do you ask?" When she asked the question, her head, which had previously been looking down, shot up, looking Rider right in the eye.

"Because I watched it. I don't know any people… Spike an-"

"I know, they've already see it." Samara said, still very clearly annoyed. "So you want me to watch it?"

"Well yeah." Rider said. Samara smiled.

"And why do you think I'd do that?" She asked, her demeanour suddenly becoming sinister. But Rider didn't lose her confidence.

"I gave you your life back. Now you can save mine." She said. Samara didn't speak for a while, as though she were studying Rider's words, dissecting them.

"Fine." Samara said at last, grudgingly. "Where is it?" She almost hissed as she said those words.

Rider took off her leather satchel and fumbled about, finally bringing out an unmarked VHS tape.

"Is there a VCR in this house?" Rider asked. Samara smiled, and pointed behind Rider, who looked to see a television set and a VCR.

"You have one in your bedroom." Rider stated. Samara was still staring at her, as though her eyes could drill a hole in Rider's head. She slid of the window-seat, and took the tape out of Rider's hand. As the ring flickered onto the screen, Rider saw an emotion she never thought she'd see in Samara, not ever – fear. It was only slight, and mingled with anger, which was certainly the stronger emotion in Samara. But Rider could not mistake the fact that Samara had been scared. She watched the rest of the tape, not taking her eyes off the screen. Hardly even blinking.

"Go." She said to Rider. "You're safe. You shouldn't have waited."

Rider grabbed her satchel and walked out of the house. Spike, who was reading the newspaper in the living room, gave her a strange look as she walked down the stairs.

"You made her watch her own tape." He said.

"How do you know that?" Rider asked hesitantly. Spike grinned.

"Vampire hearing, love. Comes in handy. You'd be going now, I guess?"

"Er, yeah." Rider said, as she pushed open the door. She closed it behind her, even though Spike came after her to lock it. As she walked back home, she felt glad that she was finally free of the curse. But did it really count? She couldn't live with it if Samara was trying to trick her. Pun intended.

…

Dawn raced up to the door. She hoped she'd got the right address. Sure enough, Spike opened the door.

"Why do people keep coming here?"

"Who else was here? Never mind. I think I know why Buffy's dead." Dawn said quickly.

"Is that so?" Spike said. He was standing in the doorway, frozen in place.

"This is going to sound crazy, but… I think it was this tape. It was sent to her, with no return address. She died a week later. And recently - Oh, god I feel ridiculous- I heard rumours. About a tape. After you watch it, you get a phone call, and a girl says you have seven days. And a week later, you die. It probably has nothing to do with Buffy's death, but… it _is _strangely suspicious."

"The cursed videotape? Well, Buffy could always have copied it and shown it to someone else. Why didn't she think of that?" Spike felt a pang of guilt. Well, not quite a pang. A pang sounds rather small. But this guilt Spike was feeling… it was all consuming.

"Why would she? And how do you know that?" Dawn asked.

"I watched it." Spike said, trying his best to keep his voice sounding cool.

"Who'd you give it to?" Dawn asked, putting her hands on her hips. She looked perfectly at ease, but clearly wasn't. Her brow was crinkled, with frustration and confusion.

"Your sister." Spike said, failing to sound calm and collected, letting his voice shake and his emotions show. "Oh, what have I done?" He said, burying his face in his hands. When he took them away, there were tears in his eyes.

"You – you…killed…Buffy?" Dawn said, processing what Spike had just said. It was unbelievable. Spike couldn't have killed Buffy. Spike loved Buffy. He would never do a thing to harm her. Well, okay, there was that time when Dawn had first met him when she was eleven… or didn't even exist yet. But Spike had been evil then. He had been evil, soulless Spike, he didn't really know that he was doing wrong. But now… now was different. He had a soul. A conscience. He helped people. He didn't kill them.

"He speaks the truth." Dawn took a glance inside and saw Drusilla, dancing down the stairs, her long, white satin dress flowing behind her, her curly dark hair falling past her shoulders. "My Spike gave her the tape. But it was Samara who killed her, wasn't it?" Dru stood close to Spike. Almost too close for comfort. Their faces were inches away, Drusilla's swaying body almost touching Spike's strong frame. He didn't feel strong. Not now. He felt like he wanted to breakdown. Or die.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was Samara," Spike said. "The…cursed tape…" He voice was shaking, and his breath came ragged, even though he didn't need it. There were tears pooling in his eyes. "Why? Why? Why?" He whispered, so low that Dawn had to lean in close to hear what he was saying. Suddenly, he grabbed hold of her. "WHY? WHY DID I DO THAT!" He yelled. Dawn recoiled in shock. "Why did I do that?" He was whispering again now, his words almost incoherent. He was crying.

…

Samara was thinking. Who could she give the tape to? Damien was the obvious choice. But would that be possible? She lifted her head. The door was opening. Drusilla was walking in, carrying a plate of cookies in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. She set them down on the bed beside Samara, and sat on her other side.

"Thank you. I love you mommy." Samara said, embracing Drusilla.

"I love you too." Dru said. Samara dipped one of the biscuits into the milk, soaking it. She liked milk. It was colder than water, but it was thicker, and somehow… less wet. It sounded strange, but it was true.

"Do you want to watch T.V?" Samara asked. Dru smiled. She began to get up to switch it on, but the picture flickered on, as though by itself. Samara smiled.

…

Damien sat in the armchair, reading. Reading was something he'd almost never done back when he was human. He didn't really enjoy it. He didn't really enjoy anything. But, he supposed, reading gave him some release from this burning desire to get his revenge. It was always there. At the back of his mind. Like some animal that was trying to devour him from the inside. Like a parasite. But reading never worked so much as killing. At first, Damien had been amazed at the fact that when he'd killed a man in hunger for the first time, he had felt no regret. Because of course, Spike hadn't stuck around to tell Damien all these things. Not that Damien really wanted him to. He hated Spike for what he'd done. And he would kill him. He just had to find him. But that girl. Samara. He had to be careful of her. She seemed strong. She might be able to stop him.

…

Spike was still shaking and muttering something incoherent, when Drusilla came back into the room. She was dragging a young womans corpse behind her. Spike yelled out and backed away. Drusilla couldn't understand why he was refusing to drink.

"I killed her… I don't want to kill… Can't kill, can't kill…" Spike muttered.

"You have to eat," Dru said, looking into his eyes almost pleadingly. He shook his head.

"I can't." He said.

"But she's already dead!" Spike didn't say a word. Or at least, Dru didn't think he did. He was looking down, at the ground, his face between his knees.

Drusilla left the room, not knowing what to do. She left the girl there, in the hope that Spike would eat her.

…

"Aiden?" Aiden looked up at the sound of his mothers voice.

"What is it Rachel?" He asked.

"Have you seen Samara, recently…?" Rachel asked. Aiden didn't say anything, but nodded.

"Where?" Rachel asked, her voice quick and urgant.

"At school. She goes there now. She was introduced to the school, with her real name, not a fake one." He paused for a minute. "She's alive, Rachel. She's not a ghost. She's human. She's free." Aiden watched as Rachel's expression changed from one of confusion to one of horror.

"She's alive? How?" Rachel asked. "Has it got anything to do with that woman on the phone…?" Aiden said nothing.

Rachel walked out of her sons room, feeling just as distressed as she had felt walking into it. In fact, she thought she might feel worse. Samara was free, and she was _here. _It seemed that Rachel could never escape meeting Samara. Wherever she went, Samara came too. There were so many questions running through Rachel's head. Who was that woman on the phone? How did she know Samara? Why was Samara here? How was she alive?


	9. Cursed

_Chapter Nine_

**Disclaimer: ****I don't own Buffy or The Ring. **

"Aiden? What are you looking at?" Rachel asked, walking over to Aiden. A newspaper was spread out in front of him.

"The newspaper." He said, stating the obvious. "A twenty-four year old woman died yesterday. She was identified as Dawn Summers, currently living in Los Angelus. She was drained of blood. I don't know why, but I get the feeling this woman you said was on the phone… She might have something to do with this." Aiden went quiet for a minute, then looked back at Rachel. "I think I know who this woman might be. I saw a man and a woman with Samara. She said they were her mom and dad."

"Right," Rachel said. "Okay." Drained of blood? Were there vampires now, too? Not that it would be too much of a surprise for Rachel. She'd already met a ghost.

…

Samara sat in class, humming to herself as she did her work.

"'Sun goes down, and then we all die,'" She said, singing the last line out loud. The other children didn't like her. They spread rumours behind her back that she drank blood, and slept in a coffin. She felt like telling them that vampires didn't really sleep in coffins, but they'd probably think she was weird. But something that even Samara herself found funny, was that they made a joke, that it was her that killed Ashleigh. But of course, that was funny to Samara for a different reason. It was because, even though they didn't know it, it was true. Of course, they wouldn't believe it. For a while, Samara thought that she would have to kill people while still a human, but it turned out that she could switch into her ghost form whenever she chose. It helped a lot. She smiled as she remembered Ashleigh's terrified face. Her victims screams were like the best music.

…

It was late at night, and Rachel, with help from Aiden, had broken into the school. She was waiting for the computer to start up. Aiden had said it would tell her all about the students of the school. The computer beeped. Damn, Rachel thought. She needed a password.

"The password is 'password'." Aiden said. Rachel typed it in, and the screen showing the students files came up.

"They don't protect their students privacy very well." Rachel observed, as she scrolled down the page. When she saw Samara's name, she clicked on it. The screen showed all manner of information. It gave her date of birth as September 9th 2002, which was of course, incorrect. The year at least. Samara had already been dead by 2002. There was a picture displayed. Samara was glaring at whoever had taken the picture. Rachel scrolled down the page, looking at the detailes. Then she found what she was looking for. The names of the parents, and their address. Drusilla and William Morgan. They'd used her name. Rachel wrote down the address on a piece of lined paper, and quickly turned the computer off.

…

Damien smiled. All was going according to plan. Drusilla had set off from the house, trying to get Spike something to eat. Damien was following her, making sure to keep to the shadows, so as not to be seen. He held a stake in his hand, ready to drive it through her heart. He stepped forward, and heard a snap, as he stepped on a twig. Drusilla turned around, walking right toward the spot where Damien was standing.

Damien didn't want to waste any time. He grabbed her around the neck, holding tightly. Even though a vampire had no need of breathing, they still did not like being strangled. Dru struggled, her nails clawing at Damien's fingers, tearing skin and drawing blood. But he did not give in. He pushed her against the wall, and held his stake up high, about to plunge it into her chest and end her…existence.

But something happened then, that he had not counted on.

An arm grabbed his own, holding it back. It was Spike. He wore an expression of utter rage, his icy blue eyes fixed on Damien's.

"Leave her alone." He growled. "It's me you want."

…

Samara opened the door of the house. Damien wasn't home. Good. She didn't like him. She didn't like the water he had held her under. She hoped he'd be gone a while. She walked into the living room. There was a T.V, a sofa, a coffee table and a large cabinet, but other than that, the room was was no carpet, no wallpaper, no nothing. Not even a window. Samara walked over to the cabinet and pulled open its creaking door.

Inside, there were rows of shelves. The shelves closest to her held mostly DVDs and books, but above them, beyond Samara's reach, there were videos. As quickly, and as quietly as she could, she went into the dining room and got a tall chair. It was so heavy, she had to be in her ghost form to carry it back into the living room. She climbed onto it, and reached up to the videos. She took one out and threw it onto the floor. In its place, she put the copy she'd made of her tape. She just had to hope Damien would watch it.

…

Rider banged on the door. Surprisingly enough, it was not Spike and Drusilla's door she was knocking on. It was Rachel and Aiden's.

"Open up!" She shouted. She heard footsteps running up to the door, right before Rachel pulled it open.

"Who are you?" She asked.

"I'm Rider. Bonwyn Rider. I'm a necromancer. I'm the one who brought that little girl back." Rider said.

"Come in." Rachel invited. Rider stepped into the house. It was quite modern. Not small, thought not very large. Rider followed Rachel into the living room.

"She's not a nomal little girl, is she?" Rider asked.

"She's a pyschic, and up until recently, she was dead." Aiden, who was also in the room, said. "Trapped too. She was supposed to stay that way."

"Should we kill her again?" Rider asked.

"No. She'll just come back. She never sleeps." Aiden answered.

"Right. What do we do?" Rider asked.

"We wait," Aiden said, staring through the window. Although he didn't really see the man washing his car in his back garden, or the kids walking down the road to get sweets, or the woman on a sunbed, trying to tempt some non-existant sun. His mind was focused on other things. Things that were far less trivial and ordinary. In fact, some might say they were quite… extraordinary.

…

Spike threw Damien down to the ground. He landed hard on his face, making his nose and mouth bleed. Reflexively, he spit the blood out, and gasped when he saw two teeth fall out with it. He tried to get up, but he felt himself being pushed down again, knocking out another tooth. Spike grabbed his hair and lifted him up, throwing him into the wall.

"Oh, come on. Aren't you even going to try to fight back? This is no fun at all." Spike just stood there, as though he were waiting. Damien stood up, and tried to get away. "Oh, what, you're a coward now, are you?" Spike grabbed his shoulder and forced him back. Damien lashed out and kicked him in the stomach. Spike smiled. "That's more like it," He said, smiling. He had been knocked to the ground. He stood up, and kicked Damien in the jaw. He lost more teeth and blood. He morphed into game face and found that he had a full set of fangs, despite having lost several teeth. He lunged at Spike.

…

Rachel waited at the door. Was no one home? But she could here someone moving about inside, and a few seconds later, the door was finally answered. By Samara.

"Rachel." Samara said, narrowing her eyes at Rachel. "What do you want?"

"Why are you here?" Rachel asked her.

"That's none of your buisness." Samara said.

"None of my buisness? Last time I saw you, you were trying to possess my son." Rachel said.

"I'm not going to hurt Aiden." Samara said.

"Who are you going to hurt?"

"Only people who watch my tape. Or people who make me mad. Like Damien, who will watch it within five days."

"Why within five days?"

"Because otherwise I'll die." Samara said, closing and locking the door behind her. That told Rachel something. Samara had watched her own tape. She wondered why, if it would lead to the same fate.

…

Damien lay on the road, feeling almost unable to get up. If anyone found him here, he'd be a sight to see. His clothes were torn and bloodied, his hair matted with blood. It was all over him. His body was covered in cuts and bruises, most of which were hidden under all the blood. He wasn't breathing, which of course didn't really matter. He held onto one of the bricks in the wall, that jutted out slightly, and pulled himself up. He used the wall to support him as he limped out of the alley. After that, he made sure to keep to something he could grab onto as much as he could, until he was back in his house, and could collapse onto the sofa. He would take a shower a bit later. He walked over to his cabinet and selected a video near the top. He didn't know what made him take this one, he just had a feeling about it. Not exactly a good feeling, nor a bad one. Just a feeling.

He inserted the video into the VCR. Must be old, he thought. The picture was terrible. It showed something he had never seen before. As soon as it was finished, he went upstairs to get showered and get a change of clothes.

When he came back downstairs, he had a message on the phone. He picked it up.

"Seven days…" It sounded like the voice of that little girl he'd seen. The one who'd hurt him with her mind. The tape belonged to her. And she knew he'd watched it.


	10. Dead

_Chapter Ten_

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own the Ring or BtVS. I only own Damien and Rider. **

* * *

><p>A whole day had passed, and Damien knew that he was wasting time. The burning desire to kill Spike was stronger than ever before, and he had to act on it. He would kill Spike, the same as Spike had killed his family, and everyone he cared about. It was only a matter of time. Spike would pay. He'd make sure of it.<p>

…

Samara was carrying a mug of hot chcolate and pigs blood up to Spike's room. He was refusing to drink human's blood now, although he did seem to have gotten over his temporary insanity. Drusilla didn't like that he wasn't killing people now. Samara didn't really care. He still liked her and Dru. He was just trying his best to turn a blind eye to their murders. But he didn't really want to.

Samara knocked on the door.

"Come in." Came Spike's voice from within. Samara opened the door and walked inside, towards Spike. She set the mug down next to him, and he took a sip.

"That looks gross." Samara said. Spike grinned.

"I know. How was school?" He asked. Samara rolled her eyes.

"Boring work, kids who hate me, kids who are scared of me." She said.

"Good." Spike said. "That's a normal school. Nothing like Sunnydale High School." Samara looked up ast Spike, confused.

"What happened there?"

"It was on a Hellmouth. Really, who's brilliant idea was it to build a town on a Hellmouth?"

…

Damien felt strange. It was a strange feeling that he had never got when he was human, but got quite often when he was a vampire. It was the feeling, when he was nervous, that his heart should be pounding, but remained still, unbeating. He was standing outside, waiting for Spike to come out of the bar. He didn't know how long he'd take. It could be all night. But Damien didn't care. As long as Spike ended up dead, he didn't care one bit how long it took.

…

Around four hours later, at around one o' clock in the morning, Spike emerged from the darkened doorway of the bar. Damien didn't waste any time fighting. He had brought a large, powerful axe and he used it now to sever Spike's head from his body. He tried to block it, but to no avail. His body turned to ash. Damien smiled. He'd done it. He'd finally killed Spike. He wished he could have drawn it out more… but he'd done it.

…

Samara ran up to Drusilla's room, and banged on the door.

"What is it, Samara?" She asked.

"He's dead. Spike's dead. Damien killed him." Samara said.

"How do you know that?" Drusilla asked, suspiciously.

"I saw it. I saw it in my head." Drusilla stood still, thinking about Samara's words. Then an idea came to her.

"We have to get Rider." Samara blinked. Why hadn't she thought of that?

…

When they arrived at Rider's house, she didn't open the door. Then Drusilla realised. It wasn't locked. She pushed it open, and she and Samara walked into the house.

"Rider?" Dru called. There was no answer. Both she and Samara searched nearly the entire house, and didn't find anything. But then they went to the bedroom. Drusilla pushed the door open, and immediately gasped in shock at what she saw. Samara couldn't see, but when she put the light on, she too was shocked.

Rider lay on the bed, her clothes bloodied. Some of her hair was wet with blood. She was pale, and had a strange, distant, staring look in her eye. She was dead. The only wound was a large cut on her neck, but there wasn't that much blood around it, even though it was everywhere else. It looked like she had bled to death.

* * *

><p>Sorry it's so short. Is it good? Does anyone feel sorry for Spike? Of course you do.<p> 


	11. Vengeance

_Chapter Eleven_

**Disclaimer: ****I don't own the Ring or BtVS.**

* * *

><p>Damien was going to pay for this. Those were the only words going through Samara's head. Of course, he was going to die anyway, because he'd watched her tape. But before he died, Samara was going to make his life a living hell. Even more than she usually did. His last week 'alive', was going to be his worst. And she wouldn't let him out of it if he copied the tape. Oh no. This time, there would be no escape.<p>

…

That night, they held a sort of funeral for Spike. They had a little tombstone with his name on it. They were the only ones who attended, of course. There was nobody else.

…

The lights flickered on and off, and Damien frowned. Lights flickering may seem everyday, as if they were just running out, but to him it was rather strange, because they had never been on in the first place. Damien, being a vampire, had no need of them. So of course, them turning on, seemingly of their own accord, was going to cause a frown. He took one of his books out of the cabinet, and tried to concentrate on the words on the page. It did not put his mind at ease. He closed the books cover with an audible _thump, _and pushed it aside, getting up from the sofa, and walking away.

"Damien…" Someone was whispering his name, in a sing-song voice. It was a quiet, slightly high-pitched whisper, clearly the voice of a child. He ignored it, and listened instead to the sound of his footsteps on the dusty wooden floor. Eventually, he heard a splash when he stepped forward. He looked down, half expecting - no, fully expecting – to see a pool of fresh blood on the floor. He sighed in relief when he realised that it was only water. And then his mind started to race again. There was nothing that could have caused a puddle of water to show up in his house. He had no need of it. And yet, there was a puddle of water right before his eyes, and he could hear a steady dripping coming from somewhere above him. He looked up. Standing high up on the banister above him, was Samara, in her ghost form. Her hair once again obscured her face from view, as she descended the steps and started walking towards him.

…

Samara smiled to herself beneath the curtain of her hair. Damien was afraid. But this time, not only was she going to give him fear, but pain too. She came towards him slowly, savouring his fear, which she knew would only get stronger. Damien himself didn't know why he was scared, Samara knew that. All Damien knew that he was terrified out of his skin, and of a little girl. Samara felt like saying, _Yes, a little girl who's going to kill you in four days time, and has killed many others before. _As she passed him, she felt his fear grow stronger still. He was sweating and panting, two strangely human things that vampires seemed to do all the time. Esspiecially Spike. When he had still been there.

Samara teleported in front of the cutlery draw in the kitchen. She opened it, and was pleased at what she found. It seemed to be a little more like a weapons draw. The forks and spoons were few, but the knives were plenty. She took out a small knife, that resembled a scalpel. Now Damien knew why he was afraid. It was because he knew that Samara was going to hurt him. He ran to the living room, and to his surprise, Samara allowed it. He slammed the door behind him, and pressed himself against it, gasping for air. He did that a lot, for some reason he could not comprehend. He certainly did not need it.

For a moment, he thought he was safe, that he had succesfully escaped his fate. But suddenly, Samara was right in front of him. She'd teleported inside. He looked over his shoulder, and heard something similar to a key turning in a lock. Except there was no key, just a scary psychic girl holding a scalpel who wanted to kill him. He held his digital camera out, trying to take a photograph. But before he had even managed to turn the camera on, the screen flickered, and Samara's arm suddenly came out of it, the scalpel directed straight for Damien's throat. It cut him, and he gasped at the pain, but nothing would happen to a vampire from a slit throat. It would heal. The thought gave him some degree of reassurance, but it did not do much to dispel the fear that had before seemed rather irrational. He dropped the camera to the floor, and Samara started walking towards him. He slid down, terrified. What was wrong with him? Could Samara control emotions? She knelt down and grabbed his wrist, pulling it towards herself, poising the knife at the top of his finger. Suddenly, Damien knew the real reason she had the scalpel. She was going to cut his fingernails off. But most of them were already broken so far down. Was that really what she was going to do?

Apparently not. Samara started cutting with the scalpel, not the nail, but the finger itself, sawing it off from the first joint. Damien let out a scream of horror and pain. A scream so bloodcurdling and terrifying, it is impossible to find words to describe it.

…

Rider opened her eyes. The first thing she did was run over to the bookshelf. She had to find a healing spell, and fast. She was rapidly losing blood, and the resurrection spell would be for nothing if she could not stop it. As soon as she found the spell, she said the incantation and felt her neck, as well as various other injuries she didn't want to think of, begin to heal. The blood loss would fix itself too, but it would take longer. Until then, she would just have to deal with the unspeakably annoying burden of being tired, faint and weak for a while.

She got up and started pacing around the room, until she caught sight of her reflection. She looked a mess. What had Damien done? She didn't want to think about it. No. Where the blood had come from did not matter now. The injuries had healed now, after all. All that mattered was that the blood was there, staining her clothes, her hair, her skin, the carpet, the bed, and had even splattered the mirror. It was going to take forever to clean the stuff out. She walked into the bathroom, and undressed and got into the shower. She was thankful for the warm water, cleansing her of the blood. She brushed her hair, trying to tame the tangles it was always so full of, but to no avail. She turned the water off, stepped out of the shower, quickly dryed herself with a towel, and went to her room to get dressed into some clean clothes.

Then she remembered what she was going to do. Spike. Damien had finally killed him. She found it unlikely that Damien had stuck around after that, but she knew that Samara and Drusilla weren't very happy that Spike was dead. Well, 'not very happy' is quite a bite of an understatent. She knew very well that they were bloody devastated. And if Damien was still around, well then, he wouldn't be around much longer. Rider knew that Samara was not going to spare him. And she didn't care. Once, she would have. Once, Damien was all she had. But not now. Now, she hated Damien, for all that he had done, all the lives he had taken. She remembered being afraid to tell him that she gave most of them back. She wasn't afraid any longer. She was prepared to help Samara in whatever she was doing to her former lover. And she would bring Spike back. She wasn't sure why, but that seemed like a good idea, even though he had been quite happily murdering people a while back. Somehow, she knew that he was capable of much better, and that he had done better before. He was a good man, but had made some _very _bad descisions recently, and Rider had a feeling that a lot of that owed its thanks to Drusilla.

* * *

><p>I know it's short. Maybe the next chapter will be longer. I think I just keep rushing it, naughty me. I <em>am <em>going to re-write this though. I mean, the first few chapters are a load of crap.


	12. Confusion

_Chapter Twelve_

**Disclaimer: I ****don't own Buffy or The Ring. Or The Lion King, although I only give that a brief mention.**

* * *

><p>The first thing Spike became aware of was the pain in his neck. He could still feel where his head had been cut off, and had to check to know it was still on. The second thing he became aware of was that he was in Rider's house. And the third thing…<p>

"Bloody hell, I'm not dead!" He shouted. Rider looked up from the book she was reading.

"No more than you always were. I brought you back." Rider said, turning back to the book. Spike brought his hand to his neck and ran it along the skins surface. It was slightly bumpy. The axe had left a scar, but that was it.

"Can I borrow your camera?" Spike asked. He didn't even wait for an answer, he just grabbed Rider's camera out of her bag, and took a photo of himself. He swore to himself, having forgotten to turn off the flash. He looked at the picture he'd taken. The mark of the axe was barely discernable against his pale skin. It was slightly smeared with blood, though most would not make the connection. He threw the camera onto the table, and was about to walk outside, when he realised he had no shoes on.

"Where are my boots?" He asked.

"I took them off, they were filthy. I don't wear shoes inside, so nobody is allowed to go past the hallway with shoes, trainers or boots on. They're in the front porch, if you're so desperate to leave." Spike _was_ desperate to leave. He put his boots on, and ran to his house. He turned the key in the lock.

"You're dead." Samara said, as soon as he had walked inside.

"Not anymore."

…

Damien stared at his hands. He couldn't quite get used to the fact that he had no fingertips.

_Three more days, Damien._

He pretended not to hear it. The voice in his head. Samara's voice. Three more days. That was all he was going to get. And he had a feeling things were only going to get worse during those last days. The seventh day would be the grand finale, resulting in his death. Which, quite likely, would seem almost welcoming and merciful to Damien.

_None of this is fair. _

That was a different voice. That was his own voice, speaking to him. He was actually hearing voices now. Oh crap. But it was true, and he knew it. It wasn't fair. His life had been perfectly fine before Spike and Drusilla had come along. It had all gone downhill from there. He'd managed to make a friend, only to accidentally kill him. Hell, he'd managed to get a girlfriend, until they started disagreeing about his murders. He couldn't help it. It was second nature to him now. But he and Rider hated each other now, he'd even killed her. Not that he was expecting her to stay dead. She never would. She was a fighter. That was a quality he used to admire in her. It was now the thing he most hated about her. He smiled in some bitter amusement as he saw the irony in that. He suddenly got an itch on his chin, and lifted his fingers to scratch it, before he remembered they were gone. He used the palm of his hand instead, as best as he could. How long would this last? Three days, of course. It would end with his death in three days time. He didn't want to die. He didn't want any of this to happen. He wanted it all to just stop.

_It will. _

His own voice again. But he didn't want to hear it, not now. He didn't want to hear, or see, anything. He just wanted it all to go away.

But that wouldn't happen for three more days. It didn't sound like long, but right now to Damien, it seemed like an eternity.

He stood up, surprised that he could find the energy. He wanted to sleep. Sleep would help him heal. But he could not re-grow his fingertips. They were gone forever.

_No, not forever. Just three more days. _

There was that voice again. He growled a shook his head, holding it in his hands, trying to erase the voices, the pain, the fear, the… hunger. He was hungry - and this strange – but he didn't really _care._ He felt the knawing pain in his stomach, but he didn't react to it like he usually would. He didn't walk out of the house, and go and get someone to eat. Even though he felt ravenous, he just stood there. He didn't know why.

…

Rachel answered the door, fed up of the banging on it. She shivered from the cold. Winter was coming early, it seemed.

"Who are you?" She asked the man who was standing outside.

"Well, the name I'm currently using for ID and all that is William Morgan. But most people call me Spike." Spike said.

"Spike?" Rachel asked. "Well, what are you doing here?"

"I'll tell if you let me in. I'd rather not mention it outside, the neighbours would think I'm nuts." Spike said. Rachel opened the door wider, gesturing for him to walk inside.

"No, Rachel, I need an invitation." Spike said.

"F-fine. Come in." Spike walked inside, and Rachel closed the door, blocking out the cold air.

Spike walked over to the living room, and sprawled out onto the sofa, making himself right at home. Rachel followed him to the armchair opposite him. Aiden was sitting on the other sofa, watching the TV, which Spike promptly turned off.

"Is it about Samara?" Rachel questioned.

"In a way. It's all of us really. It's just… I don't want… To kill people. Not any more. It's a stupid thing, and only leads to more stupid things, until my entire life is a wreck. And the guilt. I just want it all to go away. I did for a while. Several years. But then…Dru. And Samara." Spike was leaning forward now, his head in his hands. When he looked up again, there were tears in his eyes. "I don't know what to do. I mean, logical answer'd be to kill 'em. But_… I can't. _I couldn't hurt them no matter how much I wanted to. It just wouldn't be possible. I'd rather kill myself. I'd have rather killed myself than Buffy… Why have I been so stupid?"

Both Aiden and Rachel just sat there, not saying anything.

"Why did you come here?" Aiden asked.

"I don't know. There's nobody else. Not anymore." Spike's voice was low, and Rachel had to lean in close to hear what he was saying. "I just want to know what I should do. Like I said, killing 'em is out of the question."

"Samara. You said Samara. How is she alive?" Rachel asked.

"A necromancer, called Rider, brought her back. I don't think she quite realised exactly who she was bringing back. Or what she was capable of. But I don't want her hurt."

They sat in deafening silence for a while. The only sounds were the soft breathing of Aiden and Rachel. Spike wasn't breathing. He wasn't blinking. He seemed to be acting less human than usual. He was staring outside the window, but not seeing what was outside it. Not properly. He wasn't really focused on anything. His thoughts were going wild. What was he going to do? Nothing made any sense anymore. He knew that Samara was trying to hurt Damien now. He didn't know how he felt about that. Wasn't it a good thing that she was taking revenge on his killer? But somehow, Spike felt like this whole thing was his fault.

"Why did you bring her back?" Rachel asked eventually, shattering the silence with her voice like a bullet through glass. Spike looked at her. His eyes were red, she noticed. Whether it was from crying or from lack of sleep she could not tell.

"I don't know." He admitted. "I don't really know why any of this happened. It's my fault. If I hadn't come here…None of this would have happened. It's my fault." Rachel wanted to tell him that it wasn't, but she didn't know. She didn't know anything.

"Bring the Slayer and her sister back." Aiden said. "They'd help you more than we can."

"They'd want me to kill Dru and Samara. I can't. I mean, after what Samara's been through? Is it bad that even though she's a murderer, I can't bring myself to say a word against her, let alone harm her? Besides, what good would killing her do? As long as the tape is around, she'll be around. And you can hardly expect me to destroy every bloody cursed tape on the entire bloody planet!" He paused for minute or two to calm down. "Course, if I did, she probably wouldn't kill people any more."

…

Rider sat cross legged on the floor, just staring. Staring at what, she didn't know. She was thinking. Trying to picture something… memories. She didn't know what memories; she just didn't want to stay in the present. Everything hurt in the present, and nothing made sense. She wanted to imagine herself back in the past, where everything had been better.

2001

Bronwyn sat at the table, her eyes bright with excitement. Her first present was handed to her by her grinning older brother. His name was Toby; he was five years older than she was. Thirteen. That seemed old to Bronwyn, though it was very young. She tore the wrapping paper off, to reveal the gift of The Lion King on video. She smiled. A big cheesy grin. Then she got the cake. It was a big chocolate cake, which she couldn't possibly eat all on her own. After Mummy, Daddy and Toby had lit the candles, Bronwyn blew them out. It took her three tries to get right. She then reached for the cake, but it was pulled away from her. She pouted as her mother cut a slice and put it on a plate for her. Bronwyn smiled and started devouring the cake feverishly. She heard the sound of someone taking her picture and saw the flash out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't look up. Toby was eating the cake as well, but Mummy and Daddy weren't, because Mummy was on a diet, and Daddy had to take the pictures. After they'd finished eating their pieces of cake, Bronwyn and Toby went into the living room to watch the Lion King.

"Dad, the video player isn't working!" Toby called when he found that the tape wouldn't play. Bronwyn cried when he said that, thinking she wouldn't be able to watch her new video, but Daddy had fixed it, and they'd been able to watch it.

Rider smiled slightly at the memory, letting just one tear fall from her eye, roll down her cheek, and splash onto the linoleum kitchen floor. But after that, another memory invaded her mind, completely breaking the peace of mind she was trying to give herself. The memory of the fire, another strangely vivid memory, though this one, she wished she could forget. It was one of her worst memories. It was the fire that had killed Mummy and Daddy, and her little sister, Emma, who was four at the time. If she were still alive, she'd be nine.

2006

Bronwyn groaned. Toby was shaking her awake, but she was still tired.

"Bronwyn! Wake up! You have to wake up, Bronwyn! The house is on fire!" With that sentence, she was wide awake. She slid from the bed.

"Fire?" She asked, not sure if Toby was playing a cruel trick on her, although she doubted it. He'd played jokes on her before, but he was younger. He was eighteen now, far too old to be pranking his little sister, especially by pretending the house was aflame. He grabbed her wrist, and pulled her from her room. She couldn't keep up with him, so he picked her up and carried her up to the attic. She could smell smoke coming from downstairs, and she knew that it wasn't one of Toby's cigarettes. Or maybe it had been. She didn't know. She watched Toby climb out of the skylight, and clambered up after him. The cold night air bit into her as she crawled out of the house, and she shivered. Down below, there were already fire trucks and ambulances gathering outside the house. Toby helped Bronwyn down to the ground.

She never saw him again after that day. She never saw anyone. Mum and Dad had died, along with little Emma. Since she was only thirteen, and had no reletives, Bronwyn had to be sent to an orphanage. She'd always kept to the shadows, stayed away from the other kids. But one day she'd decided to run away. And it was at around that time, that she discovered necromancy. She practiced as much as she could, mostly on insects or small animals at first, then she moved up to the larger animals, and eventually, to people. By the time she was fifteen, she had become one of the best necromancers in the entire world. But she never let anyone call her Bronwyn again. It was always Rider. Except for Damien.

Rider remembered that too. The first time she'd met Damien. When he told her what had happened to him, she couldn't help but feel drawn to him. He'd lost his family, the same as she had. They started talking and seeing each other, more and more often, until their friendship had turned into something else. Rider sighed. Yet another overly vivid memory.

2009

Rider leant against the wall, lighting a cigarette.

"That's kind of illegal, you know. I mean, you don't look eighteen." She looked up at the sound of the voice, and saw him for the first time. His sallow face and sunken eyes, framed by a tangled and greasy mane of dark hair. He looked as though he had once been handsome, but had lost his looks over time through loss and hardship. Rider smiled at him.

"I do what I like," She said. "Even if I am sixteen." She brought the cigarette to her lips.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Rider,"

"I'm Damien." Damien said, extending his hand. Rider took it, and shook. She noticed the cool temperature of his skin. Only a few degrees above room temperature.

"Vampire." She said immediately. Damien laughed.

"So? I'm not going to bite you, okay?" He said, still laughing. Rider didn't laugh with him. He stopped laughing. "So, what you doing here? I'd have thought a girl as pretty as you would be in a nightclub right now, not smoking in an alley."

"Not old enough to go to nightclubs." Rider siad, throwing her cigarette down on the ground and stamping on it with her boot.

"Not old enough to smoke either." Damien pointed out. "Really, what are you doing here, being all anti-social?"

Rider looked him straight in the eye. "You think I'm anti-social? Hmmm.." She said. "Oh, I know, maybe that has something to do with the fact that my mum, dad and little sister died in a fire three years ago, and I haven't seen my older brother since? My older brother who I don't even know whether he's dead or alive?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. There was a silence of a good few minutes, and then Damien spoke.

"I lost my family too, you know. In 1985. I was older than you, I was twenty-one. But it wasn't just a fire for me. I saw my whole family slaughtered before my eyes, by two vampires. Spike and Drusilla. I lost my sister too. After she died, Spike made me a vampire. It was the worst day of my life."

Rider was recalled to the present by a loud knocking on her door. Sleepily, she walked over to answer it. Spike was outside, dragging two bodies behind him. He threw them inside. One of them was about 5'3", with blond hair, and the face of one who had been scared to death. One of Samara's victims. The other was a bit taller, with long and shiny brown hair, and a mark on her neck, almost definitely a vampire bite. Rider looked up from them, back at Spike, frowning.

"I need you to bring them back." He said.


	13. Thirteen

_Chapter Thirteen_

**Disclaimer: ****I don't own Buffy or The Ring, only Damien and Rider, and my wonderful ideas.**

Author Note: Hopefully a bit of a twist in this chapter. I'm really getting into this story! It was actually originally only going to have twelve chapters, but now it's probably going to be fifteen or maybe even sixteen.

* * *

><p>Damien could hear her footsteps, getting closer and closer. He had that feeling again. That his heart should be pounding, but couldn't beat. What was she going to do to him this time? He stayed sitting in the corner of the room, shaking and cowering like a little boy.<p>

_No_, He told himself. _Don't show fear. Can't show fear, no matter how scared you are._

He stood up, and walked away from the safety of his corner. He didn't want to just sit around and be scared this time. He had a feeling it was going to be worse, but he didn't really care. He reached towards the door, about to open it, but it swung open before he could reach it. There she stood, and to a human's eyes her small frame would be barely discernable against the darkness of the hallway, but Damien could see her just fine. She looked as she usually would, however. Her dress was not filthy, her feet were not bare, her skin had not rotted, and her hair… wasn't exactly pushed away from her face, but Damien could see her face. Most of it, at least. She just stood there a moment, not moving. The change that took place in her then, most humans would not have noticed. She hung her head down, so that her face was hidden from view by her dark hair. Her arms and legs, already pale, became even paler, and wrinkled. She was completely waterlogged. Her dress seemed to get dirtier, but there was nowhere for dirt to come from. Damien couldn't stop the fear that rose upon him, washing over him like a wave. He backed away, falling over the coffee table and knocking it over. Samara still came towards him, with a slow, unnatural walk, that seemed to take forever. But she was more than willing to speed it up by teleporting. She was right in front of him, and Damien tried to back away, but he could not go any farther, without going through the broken remains of the coffee table and the wall.

_No, don't do this! Don't be a coward! Fight her! Fight!_ He said to himself in his head. But it did no good at all. He wanted to do what the voice was saying, but he couldn't even stand. He could only sit there, his back pressed against the broken coffee table. Samara reached out her arm, dripping water onto him. He hoped she was done with his fingers. He didn't want them to be cut off even more. They were barely usable as it was. He closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to know what was happening to him, even though he knew that would make it hurt more.

…

Dawn coughed, immediately bolting upright from her place on the floor. When she had finished coughing, she stood up, and looked around the room she was in. It was quite small, though more in a cosy way than a cramped way. The walls were wood panelled, as was the floor, although a rug was spread out on it, which looked antique. Both the floor and the walls were highly polished, although there didn't appear to be any furniture in the room, apart from a small bed.

There was a door, wooden, like the rest of the room and with a large bolt, which was drawn across it, though somehow from the inside. Even though Dawn was the only one in the room. But that seemed to be the only way the door was locked, so she opened it and walked through. For a moment or two, the light of the hallway was blindingly bright, and it took Dawn's eyes a few seconds to adjust. The hallway strangely modern when compared to the room she had just been inside.

"Oh, you're awake." Dawn turned. To her side was standing a girl - or a woman, she couldn't quite tell her age – with brown hair and brown eyes. Dawn didn't recognize her at all.

"Where am I?" She asked. "The last thing I remember, I was in Spike's living room… being sucked dry by Drusilla. While he just sat there… muttering nonsense. How did I get here?"

"Spike brought you here. Your sisters in the other spare room, next to yours. My name's Rider, by the way, in case you were wondering." Rider walked off, the sound of her boots – despite them only having an inch heel, which was quite thick – echoing throughout the hall.

"Wait!" Dawn called. Rider paused for a moment.

"What?" She asked, clearly impatient. Well tough.

"My sister? Buffy? My _dead _sister?" Rider smiled slightly, almost smirked.

"She's not anymore. Hey, neither are you! I never noticed that." Rider said, her tone sarcastic, before she walked off down the hall again.

Dawn reached for the door, only to find that it was locked.

"Buffy?" She called. "Are you in there? Open up!" She heard the sound of a key turning in a lock, amd then Buffy appeared in the doorway.

"What is it, Dawnie?" Buffy asked.

"You're alive…" Dawn said.

"Yes, I'm alive."

"You're alive. You're alive!" Dawn cried, putting her arms around her older sister. Buffy hugged her back.

"Yes, Dawnie, I'm alive." She said. "If you want to talk to me, come inside, don't linger in the doorway, it's cold!" Dawn smiled and walked inside. She sat down cross-legged on the floor, and Buffy sat on the egde of the bed that was in the room.

"Do you know?" Dawn asked, her tone becoming more serious, speaking softly, though she knew Buffy could hear her well enough in the otherwise silent room. "Who killed you, I mean.," She clarrified.

Buffy looked at her gravely. "Yes, Dawnie. I know who did it. There was a note, with the tape. It was from Spike."

"What did the note say?" Dawn asked.

"It said… Here, you read it." Buffy said, passing the note to Dawn.

Dawn took hold of it, and began to read. It was quite difficult to read, though not because it was messy. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was written with a black fountain pen, and very intricately handwritten in a victorian script. It read:

_Dear Buffy_

_Watch this tape. If you don't, I will die. You have to copy it and pass it on. That's the only way you can survive. And if you can't, I'm sorry. _

_Spike_

"He told you that you had to copy it… I assumed that… he did it on purpose. I thought he wanted you to die." Dawn whispered. Buffy shook her head.

"He didn't… At least, I don't think he did. I think it was Drusilla who wanted me dead the whole time." Buffy said.

"She killed me…" Dawn said. "After I found out that Spike killed you. He sort of went crazy or something. Like when he was in the basement, when he first got his soul." Buffy nodded. She listened carefully to Dawn's words, but she wasn't looking at her. She was staring. Not at anything in particular, just staring. Into nothing.

"Why didn't you?" Dawn asked. Buffy didn't reply for a few seconds, then she turned back to Dawn.

"I couldn't. If I copied it, someone else would die. I couldn't risk another life for my own, Dawn."

…

Aidan heard footseps behind him, and walked a little faster. The footsteps followed him. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. There was nobody there. Nobody at all. He was alone on the street. He carried on walking, but the footsteps did not go away. He turned around, getting annoyed now.

"Who's there?" He said into the night. It was cold and his breath made mist in front of him. He was starting to get uneasy, though he didn't show it. He didn't turn back when no one answered. He did the stupid thing, that, when he looked back on it, he should have known not to do. Everyone in cliched horror movies did it at some point, but Aidan never thought he was dumb enough.

He walked forward, further into the dark. The footsteps had stopped, but he could sense something was there. And even though he could also sense that he should get the hell out of there before something bad happened, he ignored it, and carried on walking.

He saw Damien, crouching there in the corner of the street, almost lost in the deep, dark shadows that gathered around that place. He was looking right at Aidan, his face fozen, unmoving. He brought himself up to full height and stepped into the light, so that Aidan could see him better. His eyes widened in shock. Damien was covered head to toe in blood. It soaked his hair and his clothes, and was apparently fresh. The only place on his body where the blood was dry was on his fingers. It seemed that the tips had been sawn off at the first joint, although it had scabbed over.

"Look at me," He said, his voice so soft, Aidan was surprised that he could hear it at all. "See what she's done to me?" Aidan didn't say a word_. "WELL, DO YOU?"_ Again, Aidan spoke no words. At that point, he finally had the idea of trying to get away, but it was too late. Damien grabbed him, and pulled him back. Aidan's heart was pounding? What was Damien going to do? Killing him was the logical answer, but was that going to happen? Aidan didn't think so.

Damien threw Aidan to the ground, hard. It hurt him, and Aidan was sure he must have broken a bone. Damien started pacing in front of him. It was making Aidan dizzy, but he knew better than to tell that to Damien. He'd probably just snap his neck if he said anything of the kind. So Aidan sat there in the shadows, silently enduring this nightmare.

"She did it all in revenge… After I killed Spike. And she _keeps doing it. Even though he came back." _Damien said the latter part through clenched teeth. Aiden tried once again to get up and run away, but Damien forced him down. "I mean, this whole thing is hardly _my _fault, is it? It's all Spike's fault! He's the one who murdered my family in the first place! If it weren't for him, I wouldn't need to do any of this! I'd just be on my own, in an apartment or a house, maybe with a wife, and kids… But no. Now that'll never happen, all thanks to that _god damned Spike!" _

Damien clenched what was left of his hands into fists, and lashed out, kicking a dustbin about five metres away. He breathed heavily, trying to calm down, waiting until his rage and frustration had passed. He turned around and crouched by Aidan. "How'd you fancy eternal life?" He asked, repeating Spike's very same words to him. Aidan glared up at him, and Damien laughed. His face morphed into his demonic, vampiric, true face. He opened his mouth wide and bit down on Aidan's neck. Aidan cried out in pain. Being bitten by a vampire wasn't at all like how it was portrayed in the movies. It wasn't just a little prick, like an injection. Damien bit into his neck with every single one of his thirty two teeth, and it hurt like _hell._ Just as Aidan felt himself slipping away into oblivion, something was put into his mouth. It was Damien's arm. The blood flowed into his mouth slowly, due to Damien's lack of a pulse, but still it kept coming down Aidan's throat.

* * *

><p>Is anyone surprised by what's happened? Probably not. I know Samara was hardly in this chapter, and Spike, Drusilla and Rachel weren't in it at all, but they will be in the next chapter!<p> 


	14. What Rider Found at Cabin 12

_Chapter Fourteen_

Author Note: It took forever for me to finish this chapter. I hope it's good. I don't have a clue why it's so long.

**Disclaimer: ****I don't own Buffy or The Ring.**

* * *

><p>Samara walked inside the building, holding onto Spike's hand. They walked over to the desk.<p>

"Hello," Spike said, startling the receptionist." We'd like to speak to Evelyn."

"Right this way." He said, leading the two of them down a hall. He wore spectacles, and had greying hair that wasn't short, and covered most of his neck, although was chin length in the front. His face was pale, and his eyes were hazel. His face wasn't too wrinkled, but he was clearly no longer young. Spike would estimate his age at around fifty, maybe older, maybe younger.

They walked through the halls, until they came to a door, where they stopped. The man spoke into an intercom.

"Evelyn? Someone's here to see you. Their names are…"

"William and Samara Morgan." Spike said.

"Right." The man said. He repeated their names into the intercom, opened the door for them to walk in, and left.

"Evelyn?" Spike said as he entered the room.

There was a woman, sitting at a table at the other end of the small room. She wore the usual attire of the place, and had long hair, a dark brown like Samara's.

"Mommy?" Samara asked. Evelyn turned to face her.

"You shouldn't be here. You should be dead. Both of you." She said.

"You tried to kill me." Samara said.

"I tried to save you." Evelyn said. "From the demon. The demon inside you."

"That's speciesist!" Spike said, receiving blank looks from both Samara and Evelyn. "What?" He said, holding up his hands. "It is speciesest! I mean sure, some demons are bad, but I'm sure everyone agrees with me when I say that the Initiative is... one … thousand… times… worse. Why's everyone staring at me?"

"What's the Initiative?" Samara asked.

"I'll explain later. Why was there a demon? Who was Samara's father?" Spike demanded

"There was no father!" Evelyn said, too quickly. It was, quite clearly, a lie. And Spike wasn't about to fall for it.

"Don't expect me to believe that rubbish!" Spike said. "Look. You said something about a demon. Was that because of her father?" His tone was bordering desperate, but Evelyn did not reply to his question, instead asking one of her own.

"Why is she here?" Referring, of course, to Samara.

"She wanted to see you." Spike said. Evelyn shook her head.

"That's not what I meant. Why is she _here? _Why is she alive? You have to send her _back!" _

"No, I won't!" Spike said. Samara herself was just standing there, not saying a word.

…

Aidan opened his eyes and looked around. He appeared to be in some kind of a small warehouse. He felt hungry. Damien was sitting across from him, leaning against a wall.

"Where am I?" Aidan asked. Damien looked up at him.

"In my basement. Bit of a draught, but I think it's better than waking up in a coffin six feet under ground. Like I did. You can leave now, if you want to."

Aidan stood up, and looked behind him, only for a moment. He saw the open door. It was night outside, but Aidan could see perfectly. He began to back away, out of the basement, away from Damien, all the while never taking his eyes of his attacker. Surprising, he wasn't at all tired. He thought he would be, what with all the loss of blood. Once he was outside, he slammed the door, and bolted away. He ran a long way, without ever seeming to get tired, or out of breath. He kept running until he finally reached his home. And the found he could not enter.

"Rachel!" He called. Rachel hurried down the stairs. "Let me in…" Aidan said, only very slightly aware that he sounded like a wounded animal.

"Why can't you-" Rachel began, but then realised. What Spike had said. Vampire needed an invitation to enter the dwelling of any living human. And Aidan hadn't been home for over twelve hours. For any normal teenager, that might not be too strange. But Aidan was far from sociable. He only had two friends from school, and it seemed that the teachers liked him better than the students.

Rachel considered for a moment what she should do. If Aidan was a vampire, then she shouldn't invite him inside. But… he was her son, and she didn't want to deny him the right to enter his own home.

"Come in." She said, knowing she was making the wrong decision. She didn't like the way Aidan looked at her as he walked inside. It was the way an animal – a predator – looked at its prey. Hungrily. But Aidan didn't try to hurt her. Instead, he walked to the kitchen and 'cooked' himself a steak. When he put the fork through it, blood oozed out.

"Hey, Aidan… How come you're eating that? You'd usually have your stake at least medium-rare." She said.

"I don't know… A craving… I guess." He said, between mouthfuls of the disgusting steak. Rachel was concerned, but left it at that. If Aidan was a vampire, he needed blood, and she supposed that it was better he eat the steak than her.

…

Spike lay sprawled on the sofa, staring up at the dull pattern on the ceiling, not knowing what on earth he was going to do. He believed that maybe Samara could be rehabilitated, but he wasn't so sure about Drusilla. He wasn't going to stake her. He could never bring himself to do such a thing. But he couldn't just _let _her kill all those people. It wasn't right. And that reminded him. Samara. He knew what she'd been doing to Damien, and it had to stop. She had to kill him. Spike had to tell her to finally put him out of his misery.

"Daddy?" Spike looked up, at Samara, who had just walked into the room. Strange. He'd been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't even heard her enter.

"What is it?" He asked her, not moving from his place on the sofa. He was so still he looked dead. Which he was.

"You said… You'd tell me. About the Initiative." Samara said.

"Haven't got time, sorry." Spike said, going back to staring at the ceiling.

"What are you doing?" Samara asked.

"Thinking. Oh, yeah, you have to kill Damien now. Don't keep torturing him." Samara quickly turned her head to Spike's, in a somewhat jerky motion.

"How do you know?" She asked. Her expression was one of pure, undiluted anger, but Spike remained unfazed.

"I just know." Spike said lazily.

"Tell me." Samara growled. Spike sighed.

"I had a dream, okay? I had a dream the other day, you and Damien were there, Damien was pushed up against the wall, and you were crouching over him, cutting his fingertips off." Spike said. There were some long moments of silence, which seemed to last all of eternity, before Samara spoke again.

"You weren't supposed to see that. It was just _mine." _Her voice was quiet and even, but somehow Spike could sense the anger growing in her like a parasite. Suddenly, there was a noise. He looked over at the T.V, which was on. He hadn't turned it on. There was nothing but static on the screen, and he assumed that was what had caused the noise, but then, he realised. That wasn't the only noise coming from the T.V. Samara was looking down, but still at Spike. Her eyes were not only angry now, but also somehow… helpless. The other sound was dripping water, which Spike barely even registered, before he was knocked off his feet by an enormous wave.

…

"Aidan! Wake up! It's time for school!" Rachel called. She walked into the teenagers room, and got a surprise when she saw that Aidan was still awake. She knew that he was _still _awake, not that he was awake early, because he was still dressed in the same clothes. That wouldn't seem so odd for a normal teen, but Aidan never took dirty clothes from the floor.

Rachel walked over to the window, and began to open the curtains. She was stopped by Aidan's loud cry.

"Aidan? Honey, are you all right?" Her voice betrayed how alarmed she was. Aidan held up his arm for her to see. It had a large burn on it, still smoking.

"I can't go to school." He said. "Vampires don't go to school."

Vampire. He'd said it. Her son was a vampire. He was sniffing the air. Rachel knew he could smell her. Knew he could smell the blood rushing through her veins.

"Rachel? Are you scared of me? Don't be scared. I won't hurt you." But even Aidan himself had trouble believing his own words.

…

Spike groggily opened his eyes. The living room was completely flooded, the T.V now broken, along the VCR and the DVD player. The hallway he was currently lying in wasn't much better off.

"Samara?" He asked. Her head small splashing noises from behind , and looked up to see her standing right there, soaking wet and shivering.

"I can't control it." She said. Her voice shook. Whether it was from cold or emotion, Spike didn't know. Probably both.

"I know." He said. "I thought Evelyn might be able to help with that or something, but she's been no help. Just wanted you to go away, same as everyone else."

"But you don't want me to go away, do you Daddy?" Samara said. Spike didn't answer. It still seemed strange to Samara saying things like that. She didn't know her real father, but Richard Morgan had been horrible to her. It seemed as though Spike was the only one who had ever loved her.

"You said you saw me cut off Damien's fingers… Did you see anything else?" She asked, her tone clearly demanding an answer.

"Yes." Spike answered, without hesitation. "I saw everything you did to him."

"Most people would have gone insane if they saw all that."

"Hey, I'm not 'most people'. And that was far from the worst thing _I've _ever seen. I've seen far worse. Hell, I've _done _far worse." He said this with a slight chuckle, as though he'd lost it again. But the chuckle died down, rather than becoming a more wild, and mad laugh. That, at least, was a good sign.

…

It was time for Damien to leave. He knew a witch who could make it so that wherever he went, unless he wanted her to, Samara could not find him. Even if he was standing right in front of her. He'd copied the tape as well, given it to some person he'd seen walking down the street, just after sunset, so there was no way the curse could kill him either. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of this sooner. He didn't bother opening the door to leave. He didn't pay for the house in the first place, and now he was leaving, so he just broke it down and walked away. He smiled. Finally, he was free of Samara.

…

Rider was on her way to see the 'Morgan' family. Why? Because she was bored and had nothing better to do, and everyone else she knew – which wasn't really many people – wouldn't speak to her. She knocked on the door, and was surprised when it was opened by Drusilla.

"They're not here." Dru said, about to close the door.

"Wait! Where did they go?" Rider demanded, not about to give up that easily.

"They went away. To Shelter Mountain Inn, for a week."

"Thanks." Rider said hurridly, as she began to run back to her house. She threw open the garage doors, and dragged out her motorbike. She didn't use it that often, as she usually didn't leave the town, so could walk or run wherever she wanted to go, but she knew that Shelter Mountain Inn was in Washington, near Seattle, and she would need her bike for that.

When she eventually ended up at Shelter Mountain Inn, Samara was waiting for her.

"Where's the Innkeeper?" Rider asked.

"He's dead. He has been for years. That's why the sign says closed." Samara said. Rider hadn't noticed a sign saying it was closed. She hadn't really noticed anything for that matter.

"Where's Spike?" She asked.

"He's in his room. Cabin 12." Samara said.

Rider walked over to the cabin Samara had mentioned. It was wooden, like the others, but unlike the others, there were no windows. When Rider came closer, she saw that the windows had been smashed to pieces, rather than not being there in the first place. She knocked on the door. She didn't get an answer, but did get a rather pleasant surprsie. The door swung open.

Rider walked inside, looking around for Spike as she did so.

He was nowhere to be seen.

"Hello?" Rider called out. She heard the crunching sound of broken glass under her feet as she took another step, farther into the cabin. By now it was almost pitch black, both inside and outside, and Rider couldn't see a thing. She felt the wall to find a light, and switched it on. The room was illuminated, and the terrible contents which the dark had been hiding were reavealed. It wasn't really anything to worry about, considering Spike was a vampire, as long as none of the injuries were to his neck, or with wood. There were two puddles of blood on the floor, most of the shards of glass that were scattered everywhere were covered with blood, and there were a few drops splattered on the wall.

"Spike?" Rider called. "Where the hell are you?" She heard a soft whining, coming from the bathroom. She stode over to it, flung the door open and stepped inside. Spike was cruching in front of the sink, his back to Rider, his head bent down. There were a few more splatters of blood around the room, and when Rider came closer, she could see that the sink was completely _filled _with it to the brim, almost overflowing. Rider reached forward and touched Spike's shoulder. The touch, although light, was enough to startle Spike. He turned his head jerkily, his eyes wild and slightly afraid, but when he saw that it was Rider, he calmed down a little. He still appeared to be trembling. His nose was bleeding, and it was all over his teeth, there was even a small line of it dripping down his neck.

"What happened?" Rider asked. She was well aware than once again, she was acting calmer than most other people in her situation would. She thought most people in her situation would be at least gagging, some screaming or even vomiting.

"It keeps getting me. At the most inopportune of moments…" His voice was low, but Rider had no trouble hearing it. There wasn't anything else to veil the sound. His eyes now held a blank look, as though he wasn't really there, as though his spirit had gone somewhere far away and left just this empty shell of a person. Rider would never admit it, but that look scared her. Maybe scared was the wrong word. Maybe she was just nervous, or uneasy, or anything else along those lines. Nevertheless, it was a rather strange feeling to Rider.

"What keeps getting you?" Rider whispered. She had no worry that Spike would not hear. He was a vampire, after all.

"The guilt." He said. "I can't say it won't go away. It will. But it always comes back, thrice as bad." Rider's eyes widened as realised what he meant by that.

"_You _did this… you did this to yourself, didn't you?"

"It helps, if only for a while…" Spike had that distant look in his eyes again. But just as soon as it appeared, it disappeared again. He stood up, using the bloodied rim of the sink to support himself. He started trying to walk out of the bathroom, but he walked with a pronounced limp, and before he reached the doorway, he stumbled and fell. He gasped slightly from pain.

Rider walked over to where he lay, and crouched down beside him. He grabbed onto the toilet seat and tried to pull himself up again.

"Don't!" Rider cried. "You're injured, you should stay down." And then, Spike did the thing Rider least expected him to do. He obeyed her.

"Well, I know I'm injured, don't I? I'm the one who did the bloody thing. No pun intended." He said, with a slight chuckle. Rider breathed a sigh of releif. He was acting like his normal self. That was good.

Rider pushed up the leg of his jeans on his right leg, the one he'd been limping on. She unlaced his boot and threw it out of the room. Again, Rider acted more calmly. She guessed that seeing mangles corpses a lot did that to a person, but she wasn't even all that surprised at the sight of the deep gash on Spike's leg. But she was surprised at the thought that he – or anyone, for that matter – would do that to himself. The blood appeared to have gotten all over his leg, his jeans and, now that she looked at it, his boot. And socks too. That was the blood that was splattered everywhere. There was still a small shard of glass sticking out from his leg, and as Rider took it out, he let out a short cry of pain. There was a hungry look in his eye, and he was looking right at Rider.

"Hang on," She said. "Stay right there. I'm going to get something." She walked quickly out of the room, and once she was out of the cabin completely, she ran right the way back to her motorbike, where she had dumped her satchel. When she came back, Spike was sitting on the sofa, staring at the T.V, despite there being nothing on but static.

"I told you not to move." She said to him. He gave her nothing but a groan in response. She walked over to him and set the bag down on the floor in front of the sofa. She opened it, and started digging around, until she found the two thigns she had been looking for. A flask, and an old piece of cloth. She gave the flask to Spike, who drank deeply from it. The flask was full of pigs blood. She then proceeded to tie the cloth around his leg, as a sort of makeshift bandage. She sat next to him to watch the static. He switched it off.

"Where's Samara?" He asked.

"I don't know." Rider said. Literally right after she had finished speaking, Spike spoke again.

"Go and find her." He commanded. Rider, uncharacteristically obeying his command, walked out of the cabin. Soon after she had gotten outside, she could just make out the small frame of Samara Morgan, standing in front of a tree. A Japanese maple, Rider thought it was called.

"Samara." She said. Samara turned around, alarmed. She must have been looking at this same tree when she was killed, Rider deduced. "Spike wants to see you."

"He can see me through the window." Samara said, her gaze returning to the tree.

"That's not what I-" Rider began, about to say 'that's not what I meant', but then realising something. "If he can see you… Why did he tell me to find you?" Samara gave no answer, but Rider didn't need her to. She already knew the answer. Spike wanted to be alone. There would be nothing wrong with that, but considering what he'd already done, when he'd undoubtedly been alone…

"Do you know-"

"Of course I do. How could I not know that Daddy's been breaking all the glass and stabbing himself with it? I saw it. I saw it in my head."


	15. Murder

_Chapter Fifteen_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or The Ring. **

Author Note: Seems to be taking longer to write these chapters. _I_ think this is quite an interesting chapter, but that is only my humble (read: vain) opinion. Please, read on and enjoy this wonderful story.

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><p>Aidan hadn't gone to school. He coulsn't go outside, and he was so tired. He tried desparately to keep himself awake, but he kept giving in. And he was so hungry. Eventually, it was the hunger that kept him awake. He had gotten to the point that it was mere hunger no longer. Now it was actual pain.<p>

He walked downstairs, desperate for a distraction. Rachel was sitting there at the table, reading a newspaper. At that moment, it took all Aidan had not to jump on her and drain her of blood. He turned away, and stode out of the door, holding his breath the whole time.

"Aidan? Where are you going?" Rachel asked him. He glanced back at her, just for a moment. She hadn't been reading the newspaper after all. She'd been watching him the whole time, just waiting for her to do something suspicious.

"Out." He growled through clenched teeth, storming out of the house. It was a good thing the sun had set, because he didn't have the slightest clue where he was going. He just wanted to get away. He got into the car, turned the key in the ignition, was about to drive away. Rachel was standing outside. Too close.

"Rachel, get away from me!" He cried. He couldn't think straight. His head was too filled with the scent of Rachel's blood. She gasped and put a hand over her mouth. At first, Aidan didn't know why, but then he felt the tips of his new fangs pressing against his lip. He knew he looked terrifying.

Later, when he tried to recall exactly what had happened, he found that he couldn't. Nor did he quite know at the time. His brain was not working as it usually would. He was hardly thinking at all, and it seemed like the next few minutes passed by in a blur, like he was moving much too fast for his brain to process.

All he knew, was that a few minutes later, he was sitting in the car, holding in his arms the dead body of his own mother. Whom he had killed.

He stared at her limp, unmoving form in horror. He let her body slide from his grip, trying not notice the unnatural way she moved as she fell down. He'd have taken her to a hospital, but he was sure they'd ask questions. Questions that he wasn't sure he wanted to answer.

He slammed the door of the car, and sped off down the road. He knew where he was going now. Shelter Mountain Inn. He didn't quite know what compelled him to go to Samara's place of death - and eventual rebirth in the form of the videotape – he just knew it was where he had to go.

…

Samara knew the car was coming before she saw, or heard it, down the road. She could sense the teenaged vampire behind the wheel. She only saw it a second or two later. She recognised the boy as soon as she saw him. It was Aidan Keller.

"What are you doing here?"She asked him.

"I don't know." Aidan replied. Samara noticed that starnge look in his face that her Daddy sometimes got when he said he felt guilty. Was it guilt? Had Aidan done something wrong?

"What did you do?" She asked him. Aidan said nothing. But Samara saw something in her head. It was Rachel. Lying dead on grass still yellowed by the heat of a summer long passed. She was pale, and though there appeared to be a wound on her neck, there wasn't that much blood. "That's it, isn't it? That what you did. You killed her."

"I didn't mean to… I just.. couldn't control myself." Aidan said.

"I understand." Samara said. "That's happened to me before. When I killed the horses, and Dr. Scott… I didn't mean to. It just… happened."

"I don't regret it." Aidan said, as if that would make a difference to Samara. She didn't reply at all, just carried on staring at the tree.

…

Buffy and Dawn were walking down the street. Where were they going? The cemetery.

Buffy flung the heavy, wrought iron gates open, causing them to bounce a couple of times on the wall, creating a sharp clattering sound. As soon as she got there, there was something for her to do.

"Dawn! Stake!" She said. Dawn threw her a stake from her bag. Buffy caught it and walked over to a nearby grave. A hand was sticking out from it, trying to claw its way out from the ground. She grabbed it around the wrist and pulled it out. Earth and splinters of wood from the coffin went everywhere as the newly turned vampire emerged from its grave. Buffy read the tombstone. Will Turner. Huh. Like in Pirates of the Caribbean. The vampire struggled in her grip, trying to break free. She let go, but kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying, crushing the gravestone.

"Oopsie, didn't mean to do that. Guess that counts as vandalism, huh?" Buffy said. She gripped the stake tightly in her hand, and brought it quickly down, piercing the vampires' chest. He eyes went wide for a moment, and he stared at the stake in horror, but then he disintegrated into dust.

"Buffy, duck!" Dawn cried. Buffy did as she said, and ducked low, just in time to avoid a blow to the head.

…

Just before the sun came up, Aidan closed his eyes drowsily, his head dropping forwards just slightly. He could almost swear he'd been asleep for about a minute, until the sun starting rising in the horizon. His eyes opened suddenly. So suddenly, one would believe that they hadn't been closed in the first place. His skin had barely begun to sting from the sunlight, not nearly as bad as when the curtains had been opened – he was trying not to think about the person who'd opened them – but all the same he ran inside as soon as he could. Cabin 9.

He barely resisted tearing the door off its hinges as he entered, but he somehow managed. He was hungry again. But he was so tired!

"Aidan." Aidan turned around to face the owner of that voice which had spoken his name. It was Spike. He was holding out a flask. Aidan hesitantly reached for it. Spike chuckled when he saw his reluctance.

"Don't worry it's not poison." He said. Aidan glared at him, clearly for his annoying sarcasm. Which, funnily enough, only seemed annoying when you were on the receiving end of it. "Or holy water." Spike added. Aidan's gaze jerked away from the fask to Spike's face.

"How do you-?" He bgan, but was quickly silenced by Spike shoving said flask into his mouth. He gave a somewhat strange reaction to it. The contents tasted so bad, yet he felt like he needed it. It was almost sickening compared to Rach –

_No, stop it, you must not think of her. _Aidan reminded himself.

"Samara told me just now. She said you were a vampire, had killed Rachel, been awake all day, and was hungry and tired. So I thought I'd get you something to eat."

"Thanks," Aidan said once he had finished his meal and thrown the flask aside.

"I'm not picking that up." Spike said, as he left the cabin again. Aidan collapsed onto the sofa and fell asleep almost instantly.

…

Rider looked at her reflection in the mirror. There were a few smears of red on her face and her hands, but she didn't look too bad for one who had spent all night cleansing the bathroom of blood. She locked the door behind her, undressed and got into the shower. She turned the water on, but couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her. Which was not only irrational, but impossible. There were no windows and she'd closed the door. But the paranoia remained, cloaking her in a shroud of unease. She switched the water off, and stepped out of the shower, quickly drying herself with a towel before getting dressed into the fresh clothes she had brought with her. That was when she saw him, leaning casually against the wall, one arm by his side, the other stretched out onto the wall.

"Damien." She growled.

"Rider. How nice it is to see you again." He said, smiling. The smile was so clearly false. He wasn't nearly as carefree as he looked.

"Oh, please. The pleasure is all mine." Rider said sarcastically. "How long have you been here? The whole time?"

Damien chuckled, almost nervously. "Of course. I know a witch, and she cast a little spell on me. I can only be found, seen, smelt or heard when I want to be. And then, only by _who _I want to be seen by." Rider glared at him. Damien laughed. It wasn't faked this time. He still didn't sound carfree, but it was a genuine, if arrogant, laugh. That was what did it for Rider. Before she knew it her clenched fist was moving through the air, her feet firmly glued to the ground. Her fist connected with Damien's chin, causing him to stumble back a couple of steps.

He smiled. "Nice try," he said. "You're pretty strong. But not strong enough." Rider dogded the blow that followed by ducking to the ground, her wet hair falling into her face. The hair was what Damien grabbed. He pulled her up to face him. She smiled when she saw the thin line of blood going from his lip to his chin. She'd made him bleed.

"You really don't know when to give up, do you?" He said. He hurled her into the door, breaking it down. Rider gasped with pain and held her breath, trying not to cry out. There were splinters of wood in her arms and legs and her back, and it hurt… So. Damn. Much.

"Spike!" Rider called. Said vampire was just walking in the door. He dropped the bag he was holding (her own satchel, she noticed) and ran towards her.

"Bloody hell, Rider! What happened!" He demanded.

"It' Damien. He's here. But I don't think you can see him." She stood up, panting hard. "That hurt."

"I'm sure it- Ow!" He collapsed to the floor. When he got up, Rider could see there was blood on his lips, dripping down his chin. "What was-"

"Spike. Fancy seeing you here." Spike looked behind him. Damien was there, his grey eyes burning with hatred. Spike glared back at him. He snarled as his face morphed into the vampiric face that hid beneath the human mask. Damien followed suit, charging at him with impressive speed. Spike stayed where he was, fists clenched, feet glued firmly to the ground. As Damien came near, he quickly dogded his attack, grabbing a nearby armchair and throwing it at him. Damien was knocked to the ground, but he didn't stay down for long. He threw the chair off him and got up, only to be knocked down again by Spike.

"Give up, Damien. Leave us alone!" Spike shouted. Damien snarled at him, flashing his sharp fangs, before he run up to him and pushed him to the ground.

"Leave you alone! Why? Why Spike, why? Tell me! I want to know." Spike said nothing. Damien gave a bitter laugh. "I already killed you once. And _Rider _had to bring you back! I wonder why?" Damien almost spat Rider's name. He stood up and walked over to her.

"I'm not afraid of you." Rider said.

"Aren't you?" Damien asked, his yellow eyes glaring into Rider's brown ones. He grabbed her by the arms. She stuggled, but she was no match for Damien's vampiric strength. He lifted her off the ground, and was preparing to throw her into the wall, but he was stopped by hands around his throat. He snarled.

"Spike!"

"Leave. Us. Alone." Spike growled. He pulled him away from Rider and lifted him up in the air, sending him crashing down on the table, splinters of wood flying everywhere. Damien was lucky none of them went through his heart. Spike stormed off out of the room.

Damien growled. "This isn't over!" And like that he was gone. But he wasn't. He was still there. They just couldn't see him. But Rider could see the weight taken off the table as he moved. And left.

…

Aidan couldn't sleep. He wasn't hungry, but he was angry. Angry… at what? That was just a little too obvious. He was angry at himself, of course, but mostly at Damien. He had killed Rachel with his own two hands - well, actually his teeth - but it was Damien who had sired him. He looked outside. It wasn't night anymore, but the sun had not risen yet. The world was still stuck in pre-dawn light. Aidan had never liked the time just before dawn, it seemed like anything could happen, anything could snatch you right out of your nightmares and swallow you whole. It was a time when your worst fears came to life, when the closet monster and the monster under the bed were living and _real. _Aidan didn't believe any of that of course. It just _seemed _that way. Sometimes, he thought it was amazing what the mind sometimes managed to do to itself.

He ventured outside, gripping the railing tightly as he was walking down the creaking, old, wooden steps. He walked to cabin twelve, entered, and knelt down in the kitchen area, looking through the cupboards.

"What are doing?" Aidan turned abruptly to face the girl standing behind him.

"Nothing." He said. He didn't waste precious time thinking about why Samara wasn't sleeping. _She never sleeps, _he thought, _An eternal insomniac._

He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and took a long gulp, and then another.

"Spike's going to kill you." Samara said.

"What?" The colour drained from Aidan's face as he asked her the question. Samara's lips twisted upwards in something like a smile.

"When he finds out you stole his whiskey. I don't mean it literally." She walked away, as quietly as humanly possible, if human she was. Aidan drank more and more, only just beginning to feel drunk. Was it a part of being a vampire? The bottle was empty now, not even a drop left. He threw it aside, and stormed away. He felt like he wanted to kill something.

…

Later, around noon, Spike was woken by a knocking on the door. He heard Rider open it and let two people in, girls it seemed like. But he couldn't see them. Only hear them. He grabbed the previous days jeans from the floor, pulled them on, and walked out of the room.

"Spike!" _Damn it, _he thought. It was Buffy, with Dawn. Buffy strode over to him, grabbed him around the throat and pushed him against the wall. "Why did you make me watch that tape!"

"So Samara wouldn't kill me!" He said. "Put me down!"

"Who's Samara?"

"Me." Buffy turned, dropping Spike, who rubbed his hurt neck, and faced Samara.

"You're her… But I thought you were, you know… dead." Buffy said.

"Not anymore." Samara said. Buffy turned back to Spike.

"Why did you watch that tape in the first place?" She asked, sounding exasperated.

"People do stupid things for love. Especially me. Blame Drusilla." He said. Buffy sighed, sounding, well… exasperated. There was no other word for it.


	16. Trapped

_Chapter Sixteen_

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Buffy or The Ring. **

* * *

><p>"What are you doing?" Aidan looked up at the sudden voice. Spike was standing right by him, arms crossed. He was looking at what Aidan held in his hands. Aidan followed his gaze back to the girl lying limp and dead in his arms, blood on her neck. Her short blonde hair covered the upper half of her face, obscuring her eyes from view, but her mouth, nose and cheeks were all still visible. Her skin had an unnatural pallor to it, and her mouth hung open in something resembling the shape of a scream, part of fright, but mostly of pain. Aidan threw her to the ground and there was a loud cracking sound as a bone broke. He didn't care which one it was. She was already dead. Her hair had fallen away from her eyes, revealing the vacant look they held. They seemed fixed on something neither Aidan nor Spike could see.<p>

Aidan turned to Spike, fire burning in his eyes. He said nothing, but Spike surely already knew all he needed to. The corpse told enough. He glared at Aidan and grabbed him by his shirt. He began to drag him along.

"Let me go!" Aidan cried, struggling. But Spike was stronger than he was, thanks to being over a century older than him.

Spike took him all the way back to cabin 12, threw him down on the floor, and walked off. Aidan stood up again, about to try and leave, just in time for Spike to come back carrying a chair with some rope coiled around his shoulder. He forced Aidan into the chair, and unravelled the rope, tying it around Aidan's wrists, ankles and belly, securing him to the chair.

"Let me go!" Aidan growled, his face changing, glaring at Spike with yellow eyes.

"No." Spike said. "You killed Rachel and that girl. To be honest, I'm not sure why I'm not just killing you now. No, I'm going to give you a chance. You know why?" Aidan shook his head. "Well, that's a shame, 'cause I don't either." Spike looked over to Rider, who had been standing at the kitchen counter, preparing her breakfast of bacon and eggs. "Pigs bloods in the fridge. If he gets hungry, give it to him, and make sure he doesn't get free. I'm going out."

He slammed the door behind him, so hard he thought it would fall from its hinges.

"Where?" Rider could shout really loud, apparently.

"Home!" He shouted back, carrying on down the path.

"I'm coming too." That voice was quiet, even if it was closer. He only heard because of his enhanced vampiric hearing. He stopped in his tracks, waiting for Samara. She walked so slowly, although he supposed that was a common trait among eight year olds who didn't like running.

…

Spike hadn't expected to see Buffy and Dawn sitting on the sofa in the living room when he got home, and he certainly hadn't expected to see Dawn and Drusilla having a conversation. With cookies.

"Spike," Dru said. Dawn turned towards him and waved. He waved back. "We need a new telly. This ones broken." Spike frowned. He walked over to the T.V and sighed.

"Dru, it's not broken. It's just unplugged." He plugged it into the wall. Immediately the screen burst to life, filled with myriad colours. He switched it off.

"How come you're here now?" He asked, turning to Buffy and Dawn. "And why are you getting along with Dru?"

"I'm not. Dawn is." Buffy said. Spike waited for her to say something else, but she just took a biscuit and bit into it.

"You didn't answer my first question." He reminded her.

"What, so I'm supposed to have stayed at the inn?"

"Well, no… But why _here?"_ Spike asked. "Why makes you want to go and see Drusilla?"

Buffy made no reply. The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Spike said, approaching the door, glad to be away from the awkwardness of the situation. But that gladness was soon shattered. There stood Damien in the doorway, looking unhealthier than ever. His eyes held the same expression of hatred such as they usually did whenever directed at Spike. Or anyone else for that matter.

He stepped forwards, attempting to gain entrance, but to no avail. He was blocked by an invisible barrier.

"You can't come in, mate," Spike said. "You need an invitation from Samara, and I just can't see you getting one in the foreseeable future,"

"Don't call me that! I'm not your 'mate'!" Damien growled. Spike walked away. Almost right into Samara.

"Leave," She said. Spike looked behind him.

"Am I invisible or something? Not even a hello or whatever?" Samara ignored his statement. Why wouldn't she? She walked into the living room, sitting down on Drusilla's other side. Spike came over and sat on the floor.

"I don't hear the door closing," He said, with a slight threatening tone, despite the unusual softness of his voice as he said the words. The door slammed shut as soon as he said that, and although he heard footsteps leaving, he knew they were not alone. No. They would never be alone. Damien was so determined. He'd already killed Spike once, was that not enough for him? Spike knew it wasn't, nor would it ever be. He guessed he was just going to have to even the score and kill Damien.

Nobody spoke for quite a while. The tension in the room seemed almost to hang above their heads like a cloud. Samara wasn't moving at all, seeming preternaturally still. Dawn played with her hair, Buffy picked at a loose thread from the sleeve of her pale blue blouse and Drusilla danced to the beat of song heard only by her. Spike, however, paced the room.

"Stop it. You're making me dizzy," Dawn said. Spike turned around. The look on his face immediately silenced her. He did, however, stop pacing.

"Why the bloody hell are we doing just sitting here?" He asked. He wasn't asking the question to anyone in particualr; rather, he was addressing the entire room as one.

"What should we do?" Samara asked, her voice soft and quiet. For a moment, she seemed almost like a normal, defenceless eight-year old.

"Well, re-ensouling Aidan seems like a good idea, don't you think? He's much more useful when he's not killing people." Spike left out the fact that Aidan had killed Rachel, his own mother. Buffy didn't need to know that.

"Aidan? Is he the vampire who was tied to the chair at the Inn?" Buffy asked. Spike gave her a look what basically said: "Well, duh, are you dumb?" Except Spike would never phrase it that way of course. "I'll call Willow," she said, getting her cell phone and dialling in a number.

"Hello?" She asked.

"_Buffy? Is that you?" _It was Willow's voice on the other end of the line, but she sounded strange something. There was something about her voice that seemed frightened, even panicked, like she was scared for her life.

"Yes, it's me. Where are you?"

"_I – I can't tell you. He won't let me." _These words sent a chill down Buffy's spine.

"Willow? Who is 'he'? Tell me!"

"_Him. The vampire. Damien." _Buffy opened her mouth, ready to respond, but the phone was snatched from her hand.

"Damien! Here's a great idea. Why don't you just kill the bloody bastard!" Spike almost yelled into the phone.

"_I- He's not the only one. There are others, trying to keep me here." _

"And where, exactly, _is _here?"

"_I can't tell you. And it's not just so I don't get in trouble. I really don't know." _Willow hung up from the phone. Spike growled, his face morphing, and threw the phone across the room. Luckily, it was unharmed. The glass vase it crashed into, however, wasn't so lucky. He sat down alone on an armchair, his head in his hands, trying to calm down.

"So," He said at last, taking in deep breaths of air he would never need. "Willow's Damien's prisoner, and we have no idea where they are," He paused, looking directly art both Samara and Drusilla. The psychics. "Or do we?"

"Santa Cruz," Samara said suddenly. Everyone looked at her, except for Drusilla, who, as usual, was off in her own little – or perhaps rather large – world. "I saw it. I saw the boardwalk. It was night. And Damien was there, with two others. Willow wasn't there, but she was nearby. I know she was."

"Santa Cruz Boardwalk. Bet that's changed a hell of a lot since I last went there with Dru in 1927. Guess that's where we're going, then. Get Willow, kill Damien, re-ensoul Aidan." Yet somehow, Spike didn't even believe himself that it would be that easy.

…

Aidan hadn't shut up all day. Rider was seriously starting to wonder why he wasn't gagged as well as tied. It seemed so strange that he was being so noisy when he rarely ever talked. But, she supposed, he wasn't really himself right now, and what he was yelling was hardly coherent. He was just screaming his head off, as fledging vampires tended to do. He wanted blood. But, with the diminishing supply of pigs blood, she didn't give it to him to much. Only when she was so annoyed at him she thought she was going to stake him herself. She was watching T.V in Cabin 10, away from Aidan's endless screams and growls at how hungry he was. She was bored as hell. She wondered, was hell boring? Possibly. But then again, most likely not. Was there a hell? Rider didn't care. She wasn't going to die, what could she possibly have to do with hell?

…

The red-headed witch sat in the corner, alone, for the most part at least. There were three others in the room, but she could say with all certainty that _they _were never going to help her. They were there to guard her, nothing more. To make sure she didn't escape, and to make sure she did what Damien said. If only she could have told Buffy or Spike where she was. She desperately wanted any hope that she would get away from this place. Yet somehow, she thought she still had one. She didn't know why, and she thought it was very likely her own mind playing tricks on her, but she thought that Buffy, Spike and anyone with them might have at least the smallest inkling of where she was. Now all she had to do was wait, and try to disobey Damien as much as she could.


	17. Failed Invasion

_Chapter Seventeen_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or The Ring.**

* * *

><p>Rider heard the car pull up outside and she knew it was Spike. Sure enough, he and Buffy came through the door only a moment later.<p>

"Rider, get Aidan. We're going to Santa Cruz," Spike said.

"What? Santa Cruz? Why?"

"To free Willow. She's the Slayers friend and she's the witch casting spells for Damien. 'Cept she doesn't want to. And if we can free her, hopefully she can give Aidan his soul back. Should make him stop trying to kill people."

"I'll go with you," Rider said. "So long as I get to kill Damien." She walked out of the room, coming back with Aidan.

"Okay you, behave yourself, no killing people when we get to Santa Cruz. Or on the way there." Spike said, storming off back to the car, followed by Buffy, Rider and Aidan.

…

When they arrived at Santa Cruz, Spike realised two things:

First, he didn't have a plan.

Second, he had no idea where exactly Damien and Willow actually were.

"Damn it," he said.

"That doesn't sound good." Buffy remarked.

"It's not," Spike said, and told them the two things he had just realised.

She shook her head. "Nope. Definitely not good,"

"Duck," Spike said. His voice was so deadpan, Buffy didn't even realise he wasn't referring to an actual duck. Again. But she saw the fist that was about to connect with her face, grabbed hold of it, and sent its owner sprawling through the air, landing on the tarmac road and getting up just in time to avoid being run over by a passing car. For a moment, Buffy didn't see the face of her attacker. But then he turned towards again as he charged once more. A vampire. And not a very smart one, it seemed. Although, when were they smart? She quickly dodged him and pinned him against the wall of a nearby building.

"Do you know a vampire who goes by the name of… Damien?"

"If I did, why would I tell you?" The vampire asked. Buffy bent his finger back, hearing him howl in agony.

"Because I'm the Slayer, and if you don't tell me, I'll kill you." The vampire didn't say anything. Buffy bent another of his fingers. He howled in agony again.

"Ohay, okay, I'll tell you! Yeah, I know him. He's the one who sired me," The vampire looked very nervous, almost scared. How strange.

"And when was that, last week?" Spike asked, taunting him.

"Last month actua- hey!" Definitely stupid.

"Where is Damien?"

"He's at the bottom of the ocean, talking to his octupus." The vampire said. Buffy broke one more of his fingers, almost displeased when she didn't get the reaction she previously had. The vampire still did not say anything.

"Let me try," It was Samara. She was standing right there, looking into the vampires eyes. His expression was filled with fear, but he did not try to look away. He couldn't. He let out an ear piercing shriek. Not of pain this time, but of terror. "Tell her and it will stop," Samara said.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell! Please! Just stop it! STOP!" He had fallen to his knees, and was shaking like crazy. But he'd stopped screaming. Samara didn't turn away. She didn't even blink, but she wasn't looking at him so intently.

"What did you do?" Buffy whispered. Samara didn't answer her.

"Tell her," She said. The vampire on the ground looked up slowly, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he looked at Buffy, not Samara. It was as though he were specifically avoiding meeting her eyes.

"They're nearby," he said, his voice shaking. "Damien isn't the only vampire. There are seven others, three males, four females, that's including me but not Damien. There are two humans kept as prisoners, one of them a redhaired witch. We… live in an abandoned warehouse. It's really old and there's barbed wire around it. I think it was used in, like, the Victorian times. Ages ago anyway. There are two floors, an attic and a basement. I live on the top floor, we keep the prisoners in the basement, there are these cages and-"

"I don't give a damn…" Buffy started.

"Michael," The vampire said.

"Right. I don't give a damn Michael! I want to know _where _the god damned warehouse actually _is!" _Buffy yelled.

"It's not far," the vampire said. It seemed that he was almost determined not to give her the specifics.

…

They'd finally managed to get something worthwhile out of Michael, and they were headed towards the warehouse. It came into view, a lonely, and, seemingly, deserted place. Yet it was far from deserted. Seven vampires lay in wait within, but of course Buffy had her stake at the ready. She then realised something.

"Rider… don't you need a stake?" She asked, turning to Rider, glaring at her slightly. Rider stood six inches taller than her, at five foot nine. She was the same height as Spike.

Rider laughed. "A stake? You're kidding, right? I'm a necromancer! I don't need a stake. Power over the dead, and all that crap,"

Buffy smiled. When they came to the barbed wire fence, she effortlessly jumped over, Spike, Aidan, Michael and Dru following. Rider came next, far less gracefully, almost tumbling to the ground. Dawn and Samara stayed on the other side, unable to jump over.

Buffy, Michael and Rider had already started walking forwards. They did not expect what Spike, Aidan and Drusilla did.

Samara held out her hand to Dawn, who grabbed it with little suspicion. She didn't expect it either. Suddenly, they were on the other side of the fence, standing right in front of Spike, Dru and Aidan, the latter of which looked like he wanted to murder Samara. Which, admittedly, he probably did.

The walk towards the warehouse wasn't very far from that point, but to Rider, it seemed even quicker than it was. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she took the final step. This was it. After tonight, Damien would be no more. It was almost too good to be true.

…

Damien was sitting in his old, ruined, uncomfortable armchair, reading a book by the light of a single candle, on an oak table, approximately twelve inches away from him. And then the door was knocked in with a very loud bang.

No one wasted any time standing drmatically in the doorway. Rider ran straight towards Damien, and most others attacked the minions, except Michael, who ran away, and Dawn, who was trying to help Willow.

Damien himself closed his book with a muffled thump, and stood up from his horrible, ancient armchair.

"I thought you'd be coming here. Somehow I always knew you'd come. That little psychic girl, was it? What's her name…?"

"Samara," Rider replied. She narrowed her eyes, and Damien grimaced. She began speaking, in some ancient language Damien didn't understand. She was chanting, and moving her hands just slightly. Damien suddenly found himself suspended ten feet in midair.

"Let me go!" He growled, trying to appear intimidating. Rider threw her head back and laughed.

"As you wish," She said. Damien fell to the ground, landing hard on his head, blood soaking his dark hair. But he just got right back up.

"You bitch," He ran straight for her, his face demonic and his fangs bared. Rider jumped out of the way, grabbing the candle and pressing it against Damien's throat. It made a sound like sizzling saussages, and Damien growled. He threw it aside, knocking Rider to the ground. She got straight back up, but he threw her a second time, into the wall, with enough force to break her leg. She glared at him, hatred burning in her eyes. He walked towards her, about to kill her again, no doubt.

And then he was punched in the face.

"Hey!" Damien turned, and came face to face with Spike, Drusilla and Samara standing beside him. He growled and attacked again, but not Rider this time. This time it was Spike, who quickly blocked his attack and sent him sprawling through the air. By now they had attracted the others attention. And it seemed someone did not like their master being hurt.

It was only small so far, but the smell of burning was unmistakable.

"Get out of here!" Spike said. He wasn't sure who he was adressing. "Get the others, and get out of here!"

"What are you going to do?" Rider asked, trying her best to remain calm.

But Spike gave no answer. He just walked over to the other end of the room, where Damien lay on the floor. Rider ran in the opposite direction, Samara and Dru following close behind her. The place seemed like a labyrinth. Finally, they saw two cages, side by side, Dawn desperately searching for the keys. In one of them was a girl, looking very frightened, with bleached blond hair and two much fake tan, and in the other a woman with long red hair and much paler skin.

"Dawnie, have you found it yet?" So the redhead knew Dawn. She must be Willow.

"Just break the door off!" Rider yelled. "The place is on fire, we have to get out of here!"

"But I can't!" Dawn protested. Drusilla stepped forwards and pushed her aside. She grabbed the bars of the cage door, and pulled. It came right off its hinges. She dropped it to the floor. Willow walked out, and glanced back at the other cage.

"You get the other one out," She said to Rider. "I don't like her. I ate a girl who looked just her once. She gave me a tummy ache,"

Rider sighed as she walked past Drusilla to get to the other cage. It took her three tries to get the door only partially open, but it was open enough for the girl to get out. She still seemed frightened.

"Is that woman insane? She _ate _someone who looked like me? Why would she eat a person!" She said.

"Don't you know what those people who captured you were going to do?" Rider asked her, but she clearly wasn't interested in the answer. She had already begun to walk away. The girl hurried to catch up, not wanting to be left for one second with Drusilla. Willow and Dawn came next, followed by Samra and Drusilla. The girl with too much fake tan kept glancing over her shoulder at Dru.

…

The fire had spread. Most of Damien's young and useless minions had been reduced to tiny piles of dust, the three that remained coming to his aid. Spike was going to try to attack him again, and kill him, but it was useless. The smoke from the fire, and the fire itself, prevented him from seeing them. Pevented him from seeing anything more than two or three feet in front of him. There were burns on his skin, but he didn't care. He just hoped Dru, Samara and the others had got out.

"Spike! Get out of here!" He hadn't even turned around properly before he felt a warm hand grab his wrist, pulling him out of the warehouse. It was Buffy. When they got out, there was no sign of Damien. It was hard to decide whether that was a good or bad thing. Samara and Drusilla were already in the car; Rider, Buffy, Dawn, Willow and Aidan were going back on the train.

"Are we going home now?" Samara asked as he got into the back of the car with her. Drusilla started the car as soon as he sat down, and very soon they were far away from the burning remains of the warehouse.

"Yeah,"

"I'm hungry," Samara stated. "Can we stop for something to eat?"

"Sure," They got a burger and a milkshake for Samara, which she ate in the car, and then they continued on their journey, not saying another word for quite a while.


	18. Cursed Again

_Chapter Eighteen_

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Buffy or The Ring. **

The following night, all eight of them were gathered in the "Morgan" household.

"Is Damien dead?" Rider asked.

"No. But we can find him now," Samara said softly, her voice not much above a whisper. "And I'll kill him,"

"He copied your tape," Aidan pointed out.

"I'll make a new tape. Different pictures, different curse. He'll have seven days to live tomorrow." Aidan couldn't argue with that.

"Make sure you actually kill him this time," Spike said.

"I will Daddy. There's no way out this time. This time it's just for Damien." Spike smiled at that.

"And Willow's going to put Aidan's soul back, right?" Willow nodded. Aidan scowled.

"And I'll await the apocalypse," Buffy said, receiving a few blank stares in return. "What? It's going to come sooner or later,"

"Angel said he'd tell me when the next apocalypse is. Not sure if he was joking on not, but seeing as it's Angel, probably not. The guy spends all his time brooding, don't have a sense of humor,"

…

Annie, Emma and Michael were Damien's only remaining minions. They lived in the basement and argued all the time. Damien lived upstairs and yelled at them all the time. However, he was currently sitting in the living room, recording A Nightmare On Elm Street on a blank DVD so he wouldn't miss any when he went out.

He went down to the basement, throwing the door open so far it banged against the wall, quite likely leaving a dent. The three vampires immediately turned towards him. They were scared. Good. Damien smirked.

"I'm going out to get something for us all to eat. When I get back, I want to this place in _exactly _the same state as I left it in. Do you understand?" Not one of them said a word, but Emma nodded. Damien slammed the door on them and drew the bolt across.

…

Samara knocked on the door. There was no answer. She opened it, and Spike wasn't there. Neither was Dru, but she had seen Drusilla in the living room. Willow was doing something with her and Aidan. Something to do with their souls. Samara wasn't entirely sure what a soul was, but she knew Aidan and Dru didn't have one.

She started walking back down stairs, but then she heard creaks from the attic. She walked upstairs, the stairs groaning as she moved. When she got up, she turned to close the door, and it slammed. The wind did it. She looked ahead and saw a dark shape moving back and forth through the room. At first her eyes couldn't make out what it was, but then she realised. It was Spike. Pacing. Back and forth. Not noticing anything.

"Daddy?" Spike stopped pacing at the sound of her voice.

"What is it?" He asked, coming closer to her.

"Why are you pacing?" She asked.

"Just… worried, I guess," Samara walked over to an old wooden chair, and sat on it, peering through a few strands of hair at the little she could see of Spike.

"What are you worried about?" She asked him.

"It's Dru… You know Willow's doing that spell right?" Samara nodded. "It's to restore Aidan and Dru's souls. A soul is a conscience, it's what allows someone to tell wrong from right, to feel guilt if you choose wrong… Most vampires don't have one. I do. Angel does. Drusilla and Aidan will. That sounds like a good thing… And it is. But… It can be overwhelming. Angel spent ninety-nine years moping… I spent a few weeks insane in a basement… I mean, Aidan'll be fine, he only killed two people-"

"He killed his Mommy," Samara pointed out.

"Well, so did I," Spike returned.

"Why?" Samara asked.

"She was dying of tuberculosis. I turned her into a vampire, and she just… she wasn't the same. She wasn't the kind woman she once was. So I staked her. Anyway, about Dru. Once, she was a pure, innocent Catholic girl. And then… I shouldn't be saying this to and eight year old, should I? Oh well, not like you sleep, so you're hardly going to get nightmares. Well, then Angelus came along. He's Angel, only evil. He killed her family and slowly drove her insane. She eventually became disillusioned with the god she had once believed in so much. Well, actually I don't know really, but I hope she did. Anyway, what I'm basically saying is that I'm worried that she'll become even more insane with a soul. She'll get better… But we can't know when that will be,"

…

Annie sat down on the top step, looking down at Michael and Emma fighting. She knew it was nearly dawn, and Damien would be down there any minute. She didn't really care. She just wanted to get away, even if it killed her. She didn't care much about death. A rare thing for vampires, she was aware. The immortal always feared death. She leaped off the staircase as Damien came storming inside.

"Shut! The hell! Up!" He yelled. Michael shut up. Emma, who didn't seem to know what was best for her, kept yelling.

Damien stormed down the steps, towards Emma. He grabbed her roughly and shoved her agaisnt the wall, breaking something. Jaw, nose, skull, as if Damien cared. He just wanted to hurt her.

"STOP!" She yelled, as he slammed her head into the solid concrete one more time.

"Why should I?" Damien asked. His voice was soft, but rage-filled and dangerous. It was scaring Emma, and he knew it. He threw her, at least ten feet, before she hit the ground with yet another loud crack. She didn't move. He knew which bone was broken this time. Her neck. She started to get up, and tried to walk away, but with a broken neck, she just couldn't move right. She looked at Annie, a helpless look in her eye. Annie merely looked on emotionlessly. She didn't like Emma. Damien walked over to her again as she collapsed to the ground. He forced her lolling head up, savouring the fear in her eyes. He slid his hands down, back to her neck and a small sob escaped her. She was terrified of death. Just as Damien himself was. He was holding a small knife in his left hand now, resting it against the sobbing vampire's neck.

"Please," she whispered. "Don't kill me!"

But Damien was deaf to her pleas. He dug the knife into her neck, drawing blood. Slowly, he cut deeper. Emma winced and made a high pitched screech. She was panicking, but there was nothing she could do. Her body disintegrated into dust. Damien had severed her head from her body. He licked the knife clean, put it in his pocket and stood up.

"You see that? I killed her. No mercy. I'll do that to the two of you if you follow her example," And with that he left, for once leaving only silence behind him.

…

1984

Damien looked out the window. He was already plotting his escape. Prison didn't suit him, he'd descided. So he was going to break out. His little sister was going to get a surprise when big brother came home early. But she'd have to promise not to tell of course. No one else woul be pleased in the slightest. No, having a murderer brother at home certainly wasn't ideal. His sister was the only one he could trust.

…

When Damien tried to play A Nightmare On Elm Street a while later, he knew immediately that it was not the film he had tried to record. A ring of light appeared on the screen. No. He'd already seen it. But he was wrong. After that it was the cliff, Anna kiliing herself. That should be later on. And then came an entirely new image. Spike, just below the surface of dark water, his eyes empty of all expression, blood from his neck billowing in clouds into the water. So this was a new tape then. Damien grabbed the remote control, trying to turn the T.V off. It worked. For all of two seconds. The screen flickered to life once more, showing a little boy – Aidan Keller? – taking photos in front of a mirror. Samara was reflected there. Then a very similar image to another on the original tape, the only difference being that the well was being opened, not closed. Red underwater, the bottom of a bucket seen from inside. The ring of light appeared again, only for a split second. A girls face, staring at him with a mixture of emotions: anger, fear, hate, love confusion. It was his sister. After she'd found him in the park when he should have been in prison. Damien clenched his fists. How could Samara know about that? Then came an even worse image. The lake in his village. Erin floating dead in the blood red water. His own body lying on the bank. His yellow eyes opened, showing an expression of utter rage. The attic in the Morgan Ranch, a chair, bed, assorted toys. A spinning top seemed to be endlessly spinning. A dagger lying on a table. The night sky, moving quickly, the moon never setting, the sun never rising. An endless night. The speed then decreased and the camera – for want of a better word – slowly moved downwards to reveal a girl who looked like an older Samara. She held a screaming baby in her arms, and as she walked towards a fountain, preparing to drown the baby, she was stopped, the baby taken away. A metal table, a dagger spinning on top of it. Damien thought nothing of this image at first, but then he remembered the table. It was in the bastement. It was where Annie and Michael ate their lunch, dinner, breakfast, and played board games. And the extra chair would always remind them of Emma's death. Damien smiled at that thought. The screen changed again. Pale, slimy arms, reaching up in the well, grabbing onto brick after brick, climbing our in a spiderlike fashion. The well wasn't dark. It was open and flooded with light. The screen went balck and for a fleeting moment, Damien thought it was the end. This tape was already longer than the last. But then a loud sound pierced his ears. A human scream, certainly, yet it sounded so high and deafening, it hardly seemed human at all. It became distorted at some point until it truly wasn't human, just a loud ringing in Damien's ear. The sound stayed for a few more seconds, and then came a quick flash of an image of a leg. Spike's leg, bloody with glass sticking out of it. The dagger again, this time falling to the ground. Then there was nothing but static.

Damien switched the T.V off. It was just like the tape. The images were just as abstract, but they were different. It was a new cursed tape. A cursed DVD. The thought seemed so strange. Then again, it wasn't quite as out there as a cursed YouTube video. Now _that _would be strange.

The phone rang, startling Damien out of his reverie. He picked it up, already knowing who it was.

"_Seven days. No way out," _Samara said. Damien threw the phone against the wall, smashing it into little pieces. She'd made a new tape, just to kill him. Could she? Most likely. Did he care? Definetly. It seemed that being almost immortal had instilled in him a great fear of death. He'd hardly wanted to die when he was human, but he was hardly afraid of it either. Now he could deal it to anyone without a second thought, yet when it came to him he ran like a frightened child. It was all Spike's fault. Everything was. Even the leaky roof… somehow.

_No, _a voice inside him was saying. _It's not his fault. It's yours._

"Shut up," He said aloud. Great, now he was talking to himself.

He glanced down at his hands. He could still use them just fine, but they would never heal. Samara had permanently mutilated him. Unless he could get up her to give him his fingertips back, which was unlikely to ever happen.

…

"What are you doing?" Michael asked. Annie was climbing onto the table barefoot. Come to think of it, she did everything barefoot. Michael had never seen her wear shoes, not even when she was human. She never put her hair up either, and rarely brushed it, thought it was almost to her waist, and, as far as Michael knew, she was still growing it.

"Trying to get out," She said. She grabbed a heavy metal toolbox from under the table. "You coming?" Michale nodded. He started to step onto the table, but then Annie grabbed him roughly by the collar of his shirt, lifting him up beside her. He grumbled, and she grinned at him, flashing her slightly yellowed teeth. She picked up the toolbox, which she had put down on the table to pull Michael up. She threw it at the window. It fell to the floor afterwards, but it had succeeded in its mission. The small window no longer existed. Annie stepped to the edge of the table and reached up. She grabbed the top of the wall where the window had been, feeling her hand dig into soft soil and grass, only a few shards of glass pricking her fingers. A rather large piece appeared to have impaled her hand. That amused her, for some reason. She pulled herself and through, crawling out into the small garden. She discarded the piece of glass. Michael crawled out of the basement rather ungracefully, an almost laughable effort compared to Annie's. Then again, Annie was only four foot ten.

"Ok, we're out of Damien's house. Now what? We have nowhere to go, Annie. We have to go back," Michael said.

Annie shook her head. "Follow me,"

Michael obediantly followed Annie through the darkened streets and alleyways. He could see the soles of her feet getting darker and dirtier as they walked. He never questioned the direction they were going. After all, he'd lived in California all his life, he didn't know the area. But then they came to Rider's house.

Michael grabbed Annie's arm, pulling her back. She whirled around, a fierce expression on her childlike face. Suddenly, Michael found himself on the ground, staring up at her. How was Annie so strong? She was sixteen, two years younger than he himself was, and a foot smaller, yet she was stronger. He'd never seen her lose a single fight. Except for when she'd become a vampie two months ago… But she was just a human then.

"What are you doing?" She demanded. Her hair was falling across her face, making her look like Kayako Seaki.

"What am _I _doing? Well, I'm _certainly _not walking right into the enemy's lair!"

"Bronwyn Rider is not our enemy. She's Damien's enemy. That makes her out ally. Trust me, she'll help us. She abhores Damien, and so do we," Annie turned and strode up to the door of the house. "Are you coming?" Michael reluctantly followed. He had nowhere else to go, after all. Before Annie had even lifted her hand to knock on the door, it swung inwards. Rider was standing in the doorway, not at all nervous about the two vampires outside. Annie held her breath, trying to ignore the warm blood flowing right beneath her skin.

"Who are you?" Rider asked. Her gaze flickered between Michael and Annie.

"I'm Annie, and I think you know Michael. We were at the warehouse, two of Damien's minions. Had fifteen then, didn't he, Mike? We were the only ones remianin'. Well, there was Emma, but Damy quickly disposed of her,"

"Damy?" Rider asked, interrupting.

"Damien's too long to say. Anyway, we don't like 'im, we never liked 'im, and we never will like him. Thought you might wanna help us kill him," Annie lifted her hand up, pressing the palm against the threshold.

"Can we come in?"

"Fine. Come in," Rider said, smiling slightly.

…

Spike sat on the edge of the bed, humming a song. Whether he was humming it to himself or to Dru, he did not know, but he was humming. He didn't even realise what he was humming until he sang the last line out loud.

"How could you use a poor maiden so?" He paused for moment, completely silent, not even breathing. It wasn't like he needed to, anyway. It was Early One Morning. He had been humming Early One Morning. He swore out loud. How many decades had it been? And yet it still wounded him.

"All the pretty colours, swimming and dancing. Then down we fall, one by one," He looked down at Dru. She was awake, her eyes wide open. He wondered if she had heard the song.

"You slept like a log," He said, laughing slightly and tucking a loose strand of hair away from her face.

"I need a new gown for the party. They're all coming, you know, and I don't want to be left behind. Even the pixie with dirty feet is coming. What's the day now?" Dru asked, not appearing to have heard Spike speaking.

"It's Monday, Dru," Spike said. He paid careful attention to what she said. While it may very well be merely one of her insane ramblings, she was a seer, and her words were likely to hold some truth. Sometimes.

"Then we have plenty of time. We'd better go shopping soon anyway. Where's our girl, our Samara?"

"She's at school," Spike said.

"But I want to see her!" Drusilla protested, sitting up in the bed.

"You can see her when she gets home. You should sleep now," Dru lay back in bed, curling up next to Spike. Spike lay back down beside her. The sun was warm on his face through the thin curtains. He didn't sleep all day.

…

Neither did Aidan. He sat in the living room alone, just thinking.

"I can't belive I killed her," He whispered.

It had been bad enough before he had his soul, but now, with the guilt too… It felt more real now, much worse. Aidan had never felt anything like it before. Maybe that was because he'd never killed anyone before. He still felt something for the girl he'd killed, but for Rachel it was ten times worse.

His head shot up as the door opened. It was Samara, home from school. Aidan briefly wondered what had happened with school for him. Had he been declared dead, or missing? And Rachel, what about her? Did they suspect murder? Quite likely. Did they suspect that her recently turned vampire son had killed her and drained her blood? Almost certainly not.

Samara walked into the living room and sat next to Aidan.

"I want to show you something," She said. The slight prick of fear Aidan felt then was understandable. His ears were suddenly filled with the sound of static from the broken TV. He turned towards it, afraid of what he was going to see. The static sound changed into a high pitched noise, like a scream, but more mechanical and continuous. The image of a face was shown, a few strands of dark hair falling across it. The eyes were icy blue, the lips thin and red, the skin wrinkled. The face horrified Aidan, scared him. Less than a second later, it was gone.

"That was you wasn't it?" He asked Samara. She just nodded.

…

Drusilla opened her eyes to see the moonlight streaming in throught the wide open curtains. It made the room look like a fairy tale. Spike wasn't there; he'd gone downstairs to see Samara, she assumed. She was content to just stay in bed, but Miss Edith was singing and teasing, telling her to get up. Dru did as she was told and walked downstairs. Samara and Spike were playing against each other on Guitar Hero, and Aidan was sitting alone in the conservatory.

"Are you all right, dearie?" Dru asked, moving closer to him.

"Why do you care?" Aidan said sharply. He didn't want her to come any closer, but she did.

"You should cheer up," Dru went on, not appearing to have even heard him speaking. "You're acting all cold, dreary an brooding. Just like my Angel…"

"Who is this Angel person you and Spike keep talking about?" Dru giggled and said not a word. He was fine with that. He didn't really want to know anyway.

"Where am I going to go?" He asked. "I can't afford a house or a flat, and it's not like I can go back home…"

"You'll stay here, with us. We'll all be one happy family. Me and Spike, and you and Samara," Dru said gleefully, clapping her hands.

"I'm not staying here," Aidan growled. Actually growled, momentarily slipping into vampire face. Dru danced away, over back to Samara and Spike. Their game was finished, and Spike had won.

"You have to. You're a little baby vampire now. It's us or Damien. You chose!" Spike yelled back. He'd heard the entire conversation.


	19. Stop

_Chapter Nineteen_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or The Ring.**

* * *

><p>Damien stormed out of the house, not bothering to close the door behind him. He'd just returned from the basement and was leaving with the sole intention of finding – and, possibly, killing – Michael and Annie. Where could they be? He'd been walking through the town for the tenth time when he finally realised. Rider. Of course. Where else would a little rebel like Annie go? I made perfect sense. As he began the long walk back he peered into the window of a shop selling assorted CD's, DVD's and videos. That brought back memories. But perhaps they were memories best left forgotten. Yet they wouldn't leave him alone. Why was that? Was Samara doing this to him? His head began to hurt. He felt dizzy, and the bright lights of the mall hurt his eyes. He walked away, at a slower than normal pace, holding his head in his hands. He greeted the thick darkness and cool air outside. It calmed him slightly, but not nearly enough. At some point, he'd ended up at the park. He sat down on a bench, groaning. His head hurt even more. Suddenly, it felt as if he were being pulled away from his own body and then put back in the wrong time, he was there all over again; relieving his past like it was only yesterday.<p>

1984

Damien and his friend Sam were looking in a shop window. It sold a multitude of things, but what they were after were CD's and tapes. Frivolities that they – and others of their age – sometimes considered necessities. The shopkeeper was rather old, with thin, grey hair and glasses that made his eyes look three times their size. He was skinny and pale, his movements shaky and weak. It would be easy to knock him out. Sam looked at Damien, who nodded. Sam smashed the window, and Damien slipped through straight away. Despite the alarms going off and the panicking shopkeeper, Damien merely swaggered calmly to the counter. The shopkeeper put up more of a fight than he had expected, despite being well of sixty. Nevertheless, it was easy enough to knock him out. Damien took what he wanted and he and Sam left the scene. Twenty minutes later, the police arrived.

Damien opened his eyes groggily. He was lying on wet grass and mud, rain pouring down on him. At some point he must have fallen from the bench. He stood up slowly, the pain in his head still present, though lessened. There was a puddle just in front of him, the rain sending ripples dancing across its surface. He stopped walking, startled. He could clearly see Samara's reflection in the water. He looked all around him, but she wasn't there. He looked back at the puddle, slowly growing in size. She was there. She was moving her shoulders, coming closer. Her arm reached forwards. Damien thought for certain that she would emerge from it, but instead she disappeared. He turned around, determined not to look at the puddle again. She was standing behind him, but not the way she'd appeared in the puddle. Not with her face completely covered, only partially. Nor was she filthy and muddy, fresh from the well. No. Presently, she looked as she always did, though soaking wet with rainwater.

"How did you get here?" He asked.

"I just… came. I've been able to do that for years," She said. Her hair did cover her mouth, and it was strange to hear her speaking with no mouth visible. He didn't look at her; he looked away, looked anywhere but at her. He didn't listen to what she was saying. He listened to the rain. It fell hard and fast. If he had been dry to start with, this rain would drench him in seconds. And then, it stopped. Not a natural, slow stop, but an abrupt and abnormal stop. He whirled around to look at Samara. She was completely dry, her hair blowing all around in the wind. Damien slowly looked up. The water was right above them, suspended in midair, more rain dripping on top of it, but never through it.

"You're doing this…" He said. "My memories… Why are you doing this! Leave me be!" Samara only blinked and disappeared in answer to his question. As she left, the suspended water fell down, knocking Damien to the ground. It hurt him like concrete. The path he fell against _was _concrete.

…

Annie was seated at the table in the kitchen, Rider was leaning against a cupboard, and Michael was heating up some pig's blood for Annie and himself. Not that Annie was planning on drinking the rotten stuff.

"So this Samara girl's going to kill him," Annie said. It wasn't a statement. It seemed like something remained unsaid, but Rider couldn't tell what it was.

"Yep," She said. "But we can still beat him to a bloody pulp. That sound like fun?"

"Hell yeah!" Annie agreed, grinning. Michael came over to the table, shaking his head as he put the blood on the table and sat down beside Annie. Neither of them touched the pig's blood. They'd rather go hungry.

"We'll get Spike to help, he loves a good fight. Especially with all the crap Damien's been putting him through lately, killing him and all," Rider continued. "Damy will probably be getting new minions now, to replace the ones he lost. Might be a good idea for you two to go back there. Don't pretend you were never gone, that never works. Just try not to get killed. You could be like, I dunno, a spy or something,"

"But he killed Emma. He'll kill us. We might as well stay here," Michael said.

"No. Go back. If you die, you die, I don't care. I don't care about anyone," Rider said. Annie bared her fangs, preparing to attack. But then found that she couldn't move a muscle.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!" She yelled, her voice high and hoarse, almost a scream.

"Not much. Necromancer, remember?" Rider said, shaking her head. Her hair, falling out of its long braid, was spilling into her face, obscuring her eyes from view, distorting them. The shadows cast had an eerie effect as Annie glared at her with wide yellow eyes, filled with rage.

…

Spike was woken by the doorbell. He groaned, but it didn't stop, just kept on ringing, ringing in his ears. He looked at the clock as he crawled – well, it was more like a fall really – out of bed. He'd only been asleep for one hour. One. Bloody. Hour. He growled as he grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor and put them only. He glanced at Dru, just for a second. She was still fast asleep, the blanket covering half of her face. He smiled, and left the room.

It was Buffy and Dawn at the door.

Spike opened it roughly, angrily.

"What. The Bloody hell. Are you doing here?"

"Well, we're leaving soon, and there's this masquarade ball thingy on, raising money for charity. It's a five dollar entry, but under eighteens go free. There are drinks and snacks, but I think they cost different. For example, if you wanted water, it would be cheaper than say, wine. Yeah, anyway, we thought you guys might want to go, since it would only be like, ten dollars, for three or four of you... You can go back to sleep now," Dawn said.

"Aidan won't be coming, he's anti-social. Bye," Spike said before closing the door on them.

…

Aidan swore out loud as he felt the harsh sunlight on his hand. He was going to have to stay out here until nightfall. Unless it got cloudy, which wasn't at all unlikely to happen. Poor Damien, on his third day already. Well, second, more or less. It would be the third when he woke up though. What did Aidan have to do to be rid of Samara? He couldn't kill her; she'd only return as a ghost. He couldn't leave, she'd only follow. But she wasn't following now, was she? She had her family now, had Spike and Dru. And Aidan had Damien.

…

Damien opened his eyes drowsily, to the sight of his cold, plain room. What had he been dreaming? He didn't remember. That so often happened. When he looked up, she was there.

"Go away!" He yelled, throwing something he hoped was heavy at her. But then she wasn't there. Had she even been there in the first place? He'd no way of knowing. He growled slightly and got dressed, heading downstairs. The entire house was pitch black, but he could still see. He went to the kitchen first. It wasn't much of a kitchen really. There was no refrigerater, or a cooker. Just some cupboards with snack food and warm coke cans anyway. And he only had them because of Annie. He abhored human food, it had no taste. He could only drink blood. It was rather strange how many years ago, when he was human, he had actually hated the stuff. Just showed how much becoming a vampire could change a persong, though he guessed that was a necessary change.

_No, it isn't. Spike and Annie like human food. _

"Shut up!" He shouted, talking to himself again. He just wanted to stop. Stop what? Everything. He was afraid of death, yet he wanted to die more than anything in the world. Had he ever really been living at all? As a human he'd been a petty criminal for most of his life, in and out of prison all of the time. Eventually he'd killed two people and escape from jail. Then his village was slaughtered and he became a vampire. And then he was ten times worse. Damien was well aware that his entire life, he'd been… well, a waste of space. Yet he didn't seem to be able to _stop _wasting it. So that was exactly what he kept on doing.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Damien was startled out of his reverie and hurried to answer it. Aidan, Annie and Michael were standing on the doorstep.

"You two, basement," He said to Annie and Michael. They hurried to the basement door, Annie walking mud everywhere with her dirt feet. Damien turned to Aidan. "And you… follow me,"

They walked to the living room, which was, strangely enough, situated at the _back _of the house.

"Sit down," Damien said, approaching the cabinet. Aidan remained stading, however.

Damien opened the cabinet and took out a disk. It was a DVD, that was originally blank labelled 'Samara Morgan's Cursed DVD'. It was perfectly clean, with not a speck of dust, despite being left within the cabinet with no cover to speak of.

"You've been staying with the Morgan's ever since you became a vampire. Well, after you killed your mom anyway. You must know _something _about this?" Damien said.

Aidan shook his head. "I don't know anything," He lied. "They don't trust me,"

"Because you don't have a soul? Angel said something of the kind to me once,"

"Who is Angel? I keep hearing the name,"

"Angel? He's nobody. He was my boss for a short time at Wolfram and Hart until the Senior Partners got angry. Just some vampire with a soul, destined to save or destroy the world, yadda, yadda yadda…" He put the disk back in the cabinet.

"So. Welcome back. Why are you here?"

"You want Spike dead. I want all three of them dead. Our goals seem to work together pretty well,"

"Why do you want them dead? Tell me. I wish to know," Damien sat down on the lumpy old sofa, gesturing to Aidan to do the same.

Aidan wasn't planning on telling Damien the entire truth. He wanted him to go on believing that he had no soul. So he couldn't tell him about the guilt over Rachel. Just the older things.

"She possesed me. Nine years ago. She sent me to the dark place, made me sleep all the time. She tried to take Rachel away from me. She showed me things, horrible things. I don't know if she meant to or not, and I don't care,"

A slight smiled flickered across Damien's face.

"Good,"

* * *

><p><span>Author Note:<span> Pretty boring chapter, I know. Chapter twenty-one certainly will not be, although I do warn you, that one will take a while to write. Is anyone even reading this? Chapter twenty will be up ASAP. Which is basically as soon as I finish it, and I have no way of knowing when that is. Really, don't expect me to write chapter twenty-one quickly.


	20. Revenge

_Chapter Twenty_

Author Note: OK, so this chapter took longer than I expected. What are you going to do, kill me? I dare ya. Chapter twenty-one will probably take longer, though maybe not, seeing as, hey, no school, so I can just type, rather than spend boring hours copying from my notebook. Next chapter they go to the masquarade, see a bunch of ghosts (and people). Chapter after that, Damien dies. After _that _it's the end (there's twenty three chapters) but there will quite likely be a sequel.

* * *

><p>"Where is Aidan?" Samara asked. She stared at the plate in front of her, picking at the food rather than actually eating it.<p>

"Maybe he was eaten up," Dru said.

"Or kidnapped by clockwork robots to power their spaceship," Spike said, receiving blank looks from Samara and Dru. "What? It happened on Doctor Who! Not that I'd mind if that did happen to him. Never liked the boy, too anti-social,"

"You're anti-social as well," Samara reminded him.

"Just two days left till the party. I can't wait!" Dru said, clapping her hands with glee. Spike smiled at her and sipped his coffee. He was still tired. Dru had woken up early, before sunset, and had woken him up soon after. However, he was a vampire, and therefore the caffeine was hardly affecting him. His mind kept going back to a dream he'd had last night, a dream he could hardly remember…

He'd been standing in a field, he knew that. At some time it had been raining. There had been a strange face and a little girls voice, singing. And then the rain had become a flood. He remembered neither the face nor voice completely now, but somehow he knew that they both belonged to Samara.

…

Annie was bored. In fact, she was so bored, she was washing her feet. She had to wash her feet, because she'd already washed her hair, trimmed her nails, cleaned the dirt from under her nails and mended the window.

" 'Tis the season to be jolly, fra la la la la la la la la," Michael sang from the table. He was just trying to be annoying, she knew that. She glared at him, but he merely grinned and carried on singing.

"Deck the halls with boughs of holly – OW!" In less than two seconds Annie had leapt up onto the table, landing in a graceful, catlike crouch, and then punched Michael in the face. "Ow," He moaned. Blood was dribbling from his nose and he quickly put up his hand to prevent it dripping onto the floor. It seeped through his fingers, dripping onto the cold, grimy metal of the table. He got up to get a tissue, and Annie smiled. He'd stopped singing. Good.

Annie walked over to the pile of thin, charred blankets (they'd been in the warehouse when it was set fire to) that made up her bed. She lay down. The scratchy fabric was not what anyone would describe as comfortable, but it was certainly preferable to the concrete floor. Neither Annie nor Michael spoke a word for quite a long time. And then the door opened.

Annie's head shot up, expecting it to be Damien. But it was Aidan. Wordlessly, he came downstairs and sat at the table. Annie could not say how much time passed with the three of them simply sitting there in total silence.

…

Damien turned the TV on and sat down, leaning back on the lumpy sofa. The screen showed some random kids cartoon thing. He wasn't paying any attention. As long as it wasn't cursed he couldn't care less. He just needed something to drown it all out. He still found it hard to swallow that he was going to die in three days. He had to stay alive, he had to. And yet he knew he couldn't. It was no use trying.

"That's right Damien. No use at all," Damien froze when he heard that voice. Samara had come to him again.

"What do you want?" He asked, yellow eyes narrowed.

"You know what I want," Samara said. And just like that, with a splitting pain in his head, he was there once again.

…

It was January of 1985 and Damien was 'celebrating' his twenty-first birthday. It wasn't much of a celebration; he was alone, and all he was really doing was baking himself a crumbly, poorly cooked cake. It was dry, and really just pathetic. He'd go to the bar and get a drink – it was legal now, after all – but then he'd been seen. And so he was reduced to just sitting at home, eating a foul tasting birthday cake he'd made himself. He threw it across the room and immediately decided it looked a thousand times better as crumbs coating the floor. He didn't even think of the fact that most people would clean it up. He stormed out of the room, upstairs to his bedroom. There wasn't even a real bed in it, just a mattress and some blankets. There was however, about a thousand videos, records, CDs, books and various other things. He had no need of them now. He felt empty, like he was missing something. And he knew it wasn't one of his tapes. He tried to remember what had happened to him, what had made him this way. The answer seemed so close, he could almost hold it in his hand if it were tangible, but he could not reach it. It was within him, somewhere; he knew it, yet he had no idea what it was.

…

"Stop it!" Damien was yelling. "Stop this, all of it! STOP!" He was screaming, seething with rage. Samara just stood there. She was shaking. No, it wasn't her. It was Damien himself. He was falling to the floor, and it seemed like the ground was coming up to greet him, to pull him down into the jaws of some great beast that would consume him. He didn't feel the impact, but he knew when it was. He was still shaking. The question he'd been asking. He knew the answer now. It was himself. Only himself, and no one else, had a hand in how miserable he'd been. He'd been happy once, before he'd done anything. He realised finally that it was actually almost a relief for Spike to have sired him, no matter how he hated this life. That meant he didn't have to deal with the remorse that generally came from causing another's death. He heard a sound, a soft tinkling. He pulled himself onto his knees. It was a struggle to even do that. He knew it was Samara's fault, although he didn't know how, or why, she wanted him weaker. He felt a refreshing wind from the window. The window that was supposed to be closed. He turned his head. This didn't seem as hard, as if Samara wanted him to see whatever was there. What he saw vaguely surprised him. The windows had no glass, but they had not been smashed. And now it seemed almost as though his head was being hoisted upwards with an invisible string. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist even if he tried. He saw the glass, hanging above their heads. It was moving, swimming all over itself. Just like the maggots on the old tape, he thought. It showed no signs of falling at first. But then he felt the razor sharp glass falling onto him. He winced slightly, then cried out in pain as another of the headaches came to him.

…

It was 1977, and Damien was thirteen years old. Erin was but three. Erin was the only one of his siblings who he actually liked, despite her not being able to form particularly coherent sentences. At this point Damien looked so differnet. He had no scar, his face was tanned and darkened from the sun, his nails were almost long. His hair was even longer than it would later be, past his shoulders at least. It fell in his face, obscuring his grey eyes, so happy and bright, contrasting with how he would later seem to be the walking embodiment of hatred.

It was Christmad day, at five o' clock in thr morning. Erin had run into her brothers room, excited about presents. They opened their presents together, laughing and smiling.

…

Damien made a sound of anger. Samara didn't know whether the sound was a growl or a scream, but she knew that it was a sound filled with pain and rage. His voice was hoarse as he cried out, his eyes yellow and his fangs bared. He was very angry. Something about that memory hurt him more than the others, and Samara honestly didn't know why. That memory was a happy one. He'd been happy then. She was trying to do him a favour, in a way, trying to help him remember being happy. But here he was now with tears streaming down his vampiric face, growling and screaming as though the world were ending. The glass had clattered to the floor, dancing along the dull, dusty wood. Samara knew it was time to go now.

…

She was back at home in under a second. Spike walked into the room, holdig a box.

"What's that, Daddy?" Samara asked, pointing to the box.

"Oh, this? It's Cluedo. Thought you might want to play. It says nine plus on the box, but I think you're quite a clever eight year old. We just have to wait for Dru, she went out for some blood," He put the game down on the table. Samara smiled and sat opposite him. Spike had already set up the game by the time Dru got back.

"It's peaceful here now. Now that Aidan's gone," Dru said, sitting down beside Samara.

"He wasn't making any noise, was he?" Samara asked. She could swear he hadn't been.

"Oh, but I could hear him. The noises he makes, the screams, they're all _inside._ He's not happy…"

…

Rider opened the door, to find Michael and Annie back. And Aidan with them.

"Come in," She said. The walked inside, and started towards the kitchen. "Hey! Shoes off! Annie, wipe your feet!" Michael and Aidan took off their shoes, throwing them on the stairs. Rider took a deep breath. She didn't know why she was always so bothered about people taking their shoes off when they entered her house. The four of them walked into the cluttered kitchen and sat down at the table.

"So, Aidan wants to kill Damien too, does he?" Rider asked.

"That's right. And I just don't care about what Samara wants. I'm going to kill Damien myself," Aidan said.

"Well, that sounds like a good idea. Means we all get left out though. What I think is this: You, Aidan, should attack Damien, then Annie and Michael will help. I'll call Samara and we'll watch the whole thing from here. I am being serious by the way,"

"You know, that's actually a good idea. I mean, Samara has technically already got her revenge, with all the cutting of his fingers and scaring him half to death. And now she's doing that memory thing…" Aidan said.

"It's Samara that chopped off Damy's fingers? Hmm. Guess I just assumed they were always like that," Annie received a few stares for that statement.

Rider got up from her chair, causing its legs to scrape against the tiled floor. She went out of the room, and when she came back, she was carrying her leather satchel. She put it down on the table, and rummaged through it for a minute or two, before pulling out a dagger. It was sheathed, and therefore only the handle was visible to the others in the room. Carven on the handle was a dragon, its wings spread out, head thrown back. Rider passed the dagger to Aidan.

"Take this. Cut off his bloody head," She told him. He took the leather sheath off it, and looked at the shimmering steel blade beneath. He ran his finger along its edge. It wasn't razor sharp, but then, it wasn't supposed to be. He put it back in its sheath and put it away quickly.

…

Damien stormed into the basement. Annie and Michael were fighing over something, but they weren't being noisy. It had always been Emma who was the noisiest. Aidan was sitting alone, writing something in a notebook he'd found. He didn't look up as Damien walked down the stairs.

"Where do you three keep going!" He shouted. "I've seen you lot gone! Where have you been going! TELL ME!" Damien reached for the chair beside Aidan and threw it. With surprising agility, Aidan dodged the oncoming chair. Damien appeared to calm down when he spoke next.

"Look, if we're going to kill Spike…" He started.

"We're not going to kill Spike. " Aidan interrupted.

"He ruined my life, I have to kill him!" Damien was getting angry again. Aidan didn't care.

"No, Damien. You ruined your life. Spike just ended it," He walked back to the area where he slept – which was even barer than Annie and Michael's, as he hadn't been there long – and picked up the dagger. Its steel blade shone, even the soft – here meaning 'non-existent' – light of the basement, as he took it out of its leather scabbard.

"And so will I," Aidan said as he came to stand opposite Damien. "But I, unlike Spike, am not about to let you come back," He gripped the dagger tightly and lunged forwards. But he barely succeeded in scratching Damien's skin. He found the dagger knocked out of his hand, falling to the ground. He somehow knew what made Damien's eyes widen in surprise as that happened: it was on the new tape. He wondered if it was Samara who had planted that knowledge in his mind or if he had acsess to it himself. His arm hurt badly where Damien had hit it to get rid of the dagger. He couldn't imagine using it at all. He lightly felt it with his other hand. Yes. It was broken. Damien struck him across the head, thankfully not with the same hand he was now holding the dagger with. Damien hit him again. He fell to the ground. His leg was hurt, though not broken. Or had he thought to soon? Damien knelt down and snapped the bone. Aidan cried out in pain and anger. He wanted to hurt Damien, wanted to rip his throat out. And now he was completely unable to.

"Naughty little boy. You can't kill me, Aidan. I'm your sire. I'm going to kill you," Damien drew back his right hand, preparing to strike. Aidan's eyes widened in fear. That was the hand he was holding the dagger with. He was going to stab him. Suddenly, Damien snarled and whirled around, somehow dropping the dagger. However, it still narrowly missed Aidan's head. He looked up, trying to see what had happened. Annie had bitten Damien's shoulder. She was protecting Aidan. He was surprised, and wasn't the only one.

Damien had been preparing to attack Annie, but at the sight of her, he drew back, almost recoiling in fear. Her head was down, her long hair falling into her face, her eyes glaring up at Damien. She looked so alike Samara. They were even the same height. But Annie was older. Stronger, physically at least. She wasn't Samara. She was nothing like her.

"Annie… Are you… Do you actually want to _help _him? You've never helped anyone before. Not Michael. Not Emma. Not even _me. _Why do you help him? Tell me Annie. I want to know!"

"You've only mentioned one person who I don't hate, and what the hell do I have to help Michael with? He's just about intelligent enough to look after himself,"

"I see…" Damien said. "So you would sacrifice yourself for this…scum." He looked down at Aidan, lying on the floor, wincing every time he tried to get up. He kicked him. Aidan cried out, snarling at Damien. Annie grabbed his hand and brought it down hard on the table. The only reason it worked was because she had caught him off guard. His hand might be broken, but that didn't really matter. He'd dropped the dagger. Annie knelt down to pick it up.

"I have the dagger now, Damien," Annie said, peering through her hair at said vampire, who, for good reason, looked rather scared. Annie rarely called anyone by their full names.

"Annie, stop it. Aidan can't get out on his own. You take him somewhere. I'll try make sure Damien doesn't follow me,"

"Mike…"

"Annie. Go!" Annie gave in. She lifted Aidan up and carried him up the stairs. Damien ran after them. Michael ran after Damien.

Annie kicked the door shut as soon as she was out.

…

"Someone's knocking on the door," Spike said.

"It's the pixie with dirty feet," Dru said. Spike could still hear her, even with The Ramones blasting into his eadrums.

"I'll answer it," Samara said, getting up from the table. She peered through the spy hole and saw Annie looking up at the door. She opened it. Aidan was lying on the floor, looking quite annoyed.

"Come in," She said. Annie effortlessly lifted Aidan off the ground, despiter him being about twice her weight, and walked inside.

"What's wrong with him, Mommy?"

"He's hurt," Dru said, waiting for them in the hallway. "Snapped and broken like a forgotten toy, left alone to rot… So angry. No one wants him but the pixie…"

"Yeah… He has a broken leg,"

"How'd he break it?" Spike asked from the living room. It really was a wonder he could hear _anything _going on around him.

"Aidan tried to kill Damien. Seemed like a good idea. Obviously Damien thought otherwise," Annie said.

"Wow. Aidan tried to kill Damien. Thought after the whole Rachel thing, he wouldn't want to kill-"

"SHUT UP!" Aidan shouted. He stuggled free from Annie's grasp, tried to stand up. Only to fall back to the ground, holding his injured leg. He didn't let Annie pick him up again; he tried to crawl, pulling himself along with his hands. Despite his injured arm, this actually went quite well, due in part to the vampiric strength. But it was still a rather comical sight, slightly reminiscent of Kayako Saeki. Spike chuckled, and grabbed him by the wrists, proceeding to drag Aidan into the conservatory, which was now pretty much his bedroom. He'd even 'decorated' it – meaning he'd covered the glass with dark fabric and put some of his stuff there. Aidan flailed his arms, displeased at being dragged, though all he succeeded in doing was knocking Spike's MP3 player out of his pocket.


	21. Masquerade

_Chapter Twenty-One_

This is the longest chapter yet. And probably the longest chapter I will ever write. Over six thousand words! A lot. Damien dies next chapter. Yay! Who doesn't want him to die?

* * *

><p>The following night, Damien was cleaning his basement. Bit more specific, he was getting rid of Annie and Michael's stuff. Even more specific, he was burning it.<p>

"I know what you're planning, and it won't work. You're going to die, Damien. Two days. I'll kill you. You can't stop it,"

Damien whirled around, kicking sparks everywhere. She was always there. Whatever he did, she always came back. She would never rest. Copying the tape didn't work now, he knew that. That was what she'd meant by no escape. Also, he'd tried it and it hadn't worked. The person he'd given it to hadn't even received a death sentence. This tape was just for him and there was no escape to speak of.

"Go," He said, his voice weak and raspy, showing his fear. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" He shouted. His voice was louder, more forceful. But he was still so scared. It was almost funny. He was trying to hide it, even from himself, but he could never hide. He didn't want to die, not ever. So he was scared. So strange how dying was pretty much all he'd wanted before he became a vampire. So that was one thing he could blame on Spike.

Samara said not a word, but she didn't need to. She never needed to speak. After all, actions speak louder than words. That was completely true with Samara. She wasn't going to leave him and she didn't need to say that. She was just standing there, staring, and that was all she needed to do. Water began to drip from the ceiling around this moment, but Damien thought nothing of that at first. He ran, grabbing Samara and pushing her to the ground. Yet in her face she showed no signs of pain. She didn't even try to fight back. How could an eight year old girl fight back against a vampire? Even if he was a fairly young vampire. But it surprised him how she wasn't kicking and screaming, how she lay completely still. It was strange, very strange. But she was angry. Damien didn't realise that, he just wanted to kill her, to snap her little neck and be rid of her for good. But he didn't get the chance to. He only had a moment to register that the dripping sound had become a rushing sound. The water was pouring down the walls, causing it to rain inside. Coming right towards Damien and Samara. He got up, letting go of her, backing away a few steps. But the water continued to follow him. It was gathering, transforming into a wave. And just like a wave, it crashed down on Damien as he stood there, unable to do a thing to stop it. He was thrown to the ground. At the other end of the basement. He shivered, something unusual for vampires. They didn't get cold because they had no heat, therefore the air would be the same temperature as them. But the well water was freezing, much colder than Damien was. And Samara had _lived _in that water for years. He could see why she'd gone crazy. He looked at her now, pushing his own hair out of his eyes. For a moment, he swore he could see her how she had been, when she was dead. But she didn't look like that. She looked closer, but still different. Her face was hidden again, dripping wet and clothes clinging to her skin. But she was wearing shoes. Her nails were long. Her skin was pale, but a healthy pale, not a dead pale. But the way she was standing… It was so like her as a ghost. And then, she was gone. She hadn't walked out the door, climbed out the window. She was just gone. Just like always, leaving Damien alone, shivering and soaking wet, feeling almost… vulnerable.

…

Rider was woken by the knocking on her door. She rubbed her eyes and looked briefly in the mirror on her way out. She looked as tired as she felt. This was her first bit of sleep in a while and it was being disturbed. She didn't waste a moment wondering who by. The house was dark, messy and gloomy. She really needed to repaint and tidy up.

It was Annie who was waiting for her on the doorstep.

"The plan failed," Annie said as soon as she entered the house. Moonlight streamed in through the open door, giving the house an eerie quality. It somehow made it look deserted, lonely, like no one had ever lived there for years, decades even. "Aidan's got a broken leg, Michael's dead… Might as well just forget the whole bloody thing. Here's your knife, by the way," Annie passed it to her. The blade was bloodstained, Rider saw. Clearly red was not its original colour.

"It's a dagger," She said. "Are we just going to leave it to Samara now? Guess she'll do a much better job than you idiots!" Rider slammed the door.

"HEY! DON'T JUST IGNORE ME LIKE THAT! COME BACK!" Rider ignored Annie's yelling and sank to the ground. She hoped Samara would kill Damien. He didn't deserve to live. He didn't even deserve a quick death. He deserved… something very bad. Like the things they'd done in medieval torture chambers. Very, very bad. _Then again_, Rider wondered, _isn't Spike just as bad? He killed so many innocents…_

_No. He's not. He was a soulless bloody vampire. Before that, he'd been completely harmless. And he's trying to make up for it. Damien? Can't imagine even attempted redemption any time in the future, even in a couple of century's time. Way I hear it, he was a total bastard even before he was sired. In prison for murder, I heard. But if I met Liam, could I have imagined…_ She didn't spend any longer than that brooding over whether or not Damien really deserved a fate worse than death or not. She got up and walked back to her room. Her stupid idea of getting any sleep at all now seemed millions of miles away. She took a shower, washed her hair, and got dressed, even put on a little make-up. She still looked sick and tired. But she didn't care; at least that's what she kept trying to convince herself. Soon enough, there was another knock on the door. She looked through the spy-hole this time; to make sure it wasn't Annie, Aidan, Damien, Samara, Spike etc. She just wasn't in the mood to see any of them.

She smiled slightly when she saw that it wasn't any of them. It was a client, weeping over the death of their lover. So melodramatic. It was almost funny.

…

"I am going to kill you, you know. I'm not going to fail this time," Damien took a deep breath, and said, as calmly as he could.

"Leave me alone Samara. I'm not going to die. You can't kill me. I'm going to kill Spike." Samara even appeared to be listening to him, which he was genuinely surprised about. But then she smiled, and he knew she didn't care what he said. She was going to kill him; it was a fact.

"I won't leave you alone. You are going to die. You're not going to kill Spike," There almost seemed to be an unspoken 'Don't delude yourself into thinking these things' at the end of the last sentence. Damien snarled as the headache came again. He knew what this meant by now. Flash back time.

…

2010

He was standing on a bridge, waiting for someone. Bronwyn Rider. She came on her motor bike, making enough noise to get his attention before she actually got there. He smiled at her slightly, throwing his cigarette away as she came over to him. That was a habit he'd got off her. The girl just couldn't stop breaking the law.

"So, you killed anyone today?" She asked. He groaned. Why did she hate him killing people so much? He was a _vampire_. Vampires were _supposed _to kill people. Why didn't she understand that? Maybe she was spending too much time around dead people. Damien guessed that was a side effect of being a necromancer. A necromancer had to spend loads of time with dead people, it was their job. Bronwyn really should get a new job. He wondered for a moment if she'd even be here if her house hadn't been set on fire. Would she still be in England with her family? Would she have come here anyway out of sheer curiosity?

"Only for breakfast," Damien muttered. He knew she heard him, and he knew she didn't like what he'd said.

"Do you feel like, you know… actually _going _somewhere today? I don't think I particularly like just standing around a bridge in the middle of bloody nowhere," Bronwyn said.

"No," Damien replied. "I like it here just fine,"

"Well, I'm going for some lunch…" Bronwyn said. She was trying to trick him, he knew. He wondered, and not for the first or the last time, why they were together. They didn't even like each other, not really. They had nothing in common, except for anger problems and a lost family.

"I'll come," Damien said, even though he didn't really care for the fast food that Rider called 'lunch'. He got on the back of her motor bike.

"Don't have a helmet for you, I'm afraid," Rider said. She put her own helmet on and sped off down the road. It was just starting to rain when they arrived at Bronwyn's favourite fast food restaurant. They hurried inside and made their orders. Damien was only pretending to eat. This wasn't what he called lunch. What he called lunch was all around the restaurant, sitting on the chairs, eating their 'food'. The humans, full of hot blood rushing through their veins, ready for Damien to bite them and drain them dry.

…

Well, that was definitely a unique memory. It was only last year. Everything else Samara had shone him was less … recent.

As if she had read his mind, and she probably had, he was thrown into another memory.

…

1985

A week before his twenty-first birthday, Damien was in a fight. Nothing unusual about that, he got into fights all the time. If you could ask what he was doing at any one point in a day, he'd most likely be fighting. Or stealing. Or drinking. Basically doing a bunch of things that were illegal. Of course, he didn't care one little tiny bit that they were illegal. In fact, that may have been the very reason he did them. Because he wasn't supposed to. How many times have you done something wrong, simply because it was wrong? It may be never, and if so I applaud you. But for Damien, it was thousands upon thousands.

He fell to the ground again. Most everyone in the pub at this moment was laughing at him. No one liked him of course; they all liked the guy he was fighting. Well, what a shame.

He got back up and got his knife out of his pocket. There weren't any rules, after all. One could hardly accuse him of cheating. As the man he was fighting lunged once more, he cut his throat. The amount of blood surprised him, but he didn't show it. He couldn't show surprise or any other emotion. The other man was dead in mere moments. There was blood everywhere. All over Damien's clothes, his hair, the body, and some of the onlookers. One of the man's friends ran up to the body, and checked for the pulse. How stupid. Couldn't he tell he was dead?

"You killed him!" The friend shouted at Damien. He was younger than the man Damien had been fighting, around sixteen. He had fluffy blond hair, blue eyes and sunburnt skin. He was quite chubby. "Why did you kill him! That's not… It's not fair! I'm calling the police!" And he did.

Damien ran out of the pub as quickly as he could, taking the bloodied knife with him. The police never found him.

…

1985

Damien was back in his town again. Still in hiding of course. He could never be seen. The boy – it turned out his name was Paul and he was the brother of the man Damien had killed – had sent someone to track down Damien about a month back. It had almost worked. But them Damien had killed him too. Things were so different now to how they used to be. Once upon a time, Damien wouldn't have dreamed of killing anyone. Any now he'd murdered two people, pretty much in cold blood. And yet, he hardly felt anything for them. It was so strange.

…

Damien was almost relieved when he found himself back in the right time, in the right house. And the right species. He hated to admit it, but things were almost better now that he was a vampire. No running, not anymore.

"Why?" He asked. "Why are you doing these things to me?"

"You hurt me," Samara replied. "You made me suffer, so you'll suffer too. And you'll die. Two days," She was gone again. Why wouldn't she leave him alone? Could she not forgive anyone for anything? No, she couldn't. True forgiveness was hard enough for a regular person, let alone someone like Samara. She wouldn't stop, not ever, not even if she wanted to. She just… couldn't.

He glanced at the window. The sun was rising now, casting its rays across the carpet. Damien was hardly bothered by it, but he knew he had to get up and close the curtains, if he didn't want to find himself a pile of ash on the ground before the day was over. He managed to roll over, onto his stomach, and then was struck by an almost overwhelming pain in his head. No more visions came, but it still hurt. He wondered for a moment how he had ended up lying on the ground. He was certain he had been standing when Samara had shown him the memories or visions or whatever they may be. And it had still been night, with hours till dawn came. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, he didn't care if he burned today. He didn't care about anything. He didn't care if he died, in fact, he wanted it. He wanted death, and when it came, he would greet it like an old friend. He wasn't afraid of anything, just for that moment. He didn't feel fear. He didn't feel anything. But then it came back, crawling towards him with outstretched arms, folding him into its deadly embrace. Fear would never leave him while Samara was around. She was going to kill him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing. Nothing at all. He allowed a few tears to well in his eyes. He didn't want to die. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do anymore. But whatever he was going to do, he couldn't stay sitting there on the floor. He got up, glancing at the curtains. Impulsively, he ran over and tore them down. He could feel the sun burning his skin as he left the room, but he didn't care. The basement was perfectly sunlight free, after all.

…

Rider dialled in the number on her phone. She heard it ringing on the other end, but no one picked up. She supposed they'd be asleep at this time during the day. She put the phone down.

"Bronwyn," Rider didn't recognize the voice for a minute. It was the small and high voice of a little girl. It took her a while to realise which little girl. Samara.

She turned around. Samara was standing right behind her. She was already dressed for the masquerade later, in a pure white dress, little black shoes, and a black mask covering the top half of her face.

"What do you want? Got something to tell me?"

Samara nodded.

"About Damien?"

She nodded again.

"What is it?"

"He wants to kill him again, but I won't let him. He's not going to kill any of us. None of us. Not me, not Mommy and not Daddy. I'll kill him. But I can't kill _them._"

"Who are they?"

"Them. The vampires he got to get together for the party. They're stupid, but they're strong. We need help,"

"So, you want me to come. Fine. Don't expect me to wear anything fancy,"

…

Aidan couldn't sleep. Well, he had slept earlier, for about an hour, but he'd woken up soon enough. He didn't know why. He did, however, know who was knocking on the door.

"What do you want?" He groaned, still half asleep.

"You're coming to the masquerade with us. You want to kill Damien, don't you? You can help. I'll kill him. You can help," Samara said. Aidan stared at her, right at her. Glaring. He felt less tired, somehow.

"Help how? Last time I tried to hurt Damien, I got my leg broken." Aidan said. His leg was fine now, but that didn't matter to him, not at all. He hadn't managed to kill Damien, and Damien had hurt him in return anyway. It all seemed pointless really. So far it seemed he had done more harm than good. And doing what Samara said was hardly going to help make things right. It never would. She had rather… what was it her file had said at Eola? Oh, that was it. Severely impaired judgement. She felt no remorse, she didn't know right from wrong. Just like a vampire. Like Aidan had been himself not too long ago. And, undoubtedly, how Spike used to be as well. It was hard to tell with Dru. She was so crazy. But somehow, Aidan knew there was something more to her than mere craziness. She saw some logic. The problem was she also saw plenty of things that weren't there.

Samara had been saying something, but Aidan hadn't heard. Well, he heard her just fine… he just hadn't listened.

"What did you say?" He asked.

"I said he's gathering other vampires, to help him. To kill us, and everyone else who's going to the masquerade. He knows he's going to die, but he's terrified, and when Damien's terrified, it's never a pretty sight. He's going to take as many of us as he can with him. He doesn't like it when they run. You know that, Aidan," He did. It sometimes surprised him how much he knew. Samara rolled her eyes.

"You're psychic, Aidan, like me. You're weaker, though. You can't see the way I see. Or Dru. She has visions, but she never knows what they mean. She always speaks so cryptically…"

"You know, sometimes it's really hard to believe you're eight,"

"I've been eight for forty-three years. You can learn a lot in forty-three years. I'm leaving now. You can go back to sleep."

Aidan turned away from her and listened to the _click _as she closed the door. He was alone again. He wasn't sure whether or not to feel pleased about that. He was going to be late to the masquerade. He knew that already. He didn't really care. He closed his eyes.

Aidan opened his eyes, and looked around him wildly. He was still lying on the sofa in the conservatory. He breathed out in relief. It had seemed so real. He looked at the clock, surprised to find that only two minutes had passed since Samara had come in. And he'd had an entire nightmare in that time. An entire nightmare, or rather… a memory. He'd been back there again in Seattle in 2002, at his father's funeral. He'd been a little boy again. A _human _little boy. And now he was going to be a seventeen year old for the rest of his life. While he had to admit that seemed pretty cool, he knew it would get old soon enough. He'd also seen something else, but this time, from the outside… he wasn't himself in the next dream, nightmare, memory, or whatever it was. He was watching himself. With different eyes. It was the night he was sired. He could see Damien; every ghastly detail of him: the long, pale scar, stretching from his hairline to his middle finger, the grey eyes filled with hatred, the black clothes, the long, dark hair, the blood, the missing fingertips… everything. He could see himself; foolishly asking who it was who dared disturb the peace and silence of the night, rather than running away like any intelligent person should. He saw Damien draw close to him, sink his fangs into his neck. He heard his own tormented screams. Saw his own body fall to the floor. Saw Damien carry him back to his house. He felt a slight pain when Damien went out of view. Then, with horror, he realised he had to follow. He ran the entire way to the house. As he pushed open the door, he saw Damien just beginning to descend the steps. He followed quickly this time. He saw Damien lay his body down on the floor, saw it flop like a rag doll. Saw the time passing much faster than it should. He saw himself awakening, then leaving, running to his own home just before dawn, Rachel letting him in. Eventually, it led to him seeing, in ghastly detail, himself killing Rachel. He saw her fragile body slumping to the ground, her hair spread around her head like a halo, only slightly stained with blood. Her skin was drained of all colour, assuming the pallor of the dead. Her eyes had an empty stare, slightly unnerving Aiden even now. And then he fled to Shelter Mountain Inn, and the dream ended.

…

It was six o' clock in the evening, and the Morgan's were ready to go to the masquerade. They were only waiting for Buffy and Dawn. Samara was admiring herself in the mirror; she looked so pretty, like one of Dru's little china dolls. She'd had a china doll once, but she died only the day after it was given to her. What a shame.

The doorbell rang and Samara ran to open it, letting Buffy and Dawn inside. They went back to sit down for a while. Samara sat on Dru's knee, Buffy sat on Spike's other side, and Dawn sat opposite them. They sat and talked about mundane things. The Aidan came out of his room, barely awake, and they left.

…

As soon as they arrived in the hall, it was quite apparent that something was not how it was supposed to be, and it wasn't the broken light bulb either. It was the fact that there were far too many people in the hall for the mere one hundred guests. And most of them were dead. There were so many of them. The closest to the group was a little girl, a couple of years younger than Samara, maybe. Her hair was tangled and sticky with blood. She had a pale face and a black eye, dried blood on her swollen lip. Her old fashioned clothes were torn and dirty. She'd died a couple of hundred years ago from the look of what she wore. No one wanted to think about how she had died. If she noticed anyone staring at her, she paid no mind to them, and carried on walking – or, rather, stumbling – down the length of the hall.

"Uh, guys… have you noticed all the, you know… dead people?" Dawn asked.

"How could I not?" Buffy complained. "They're everywhere… Can't we have a normal day just once?"

"Hush… They're not bothering us… I think," Spike said. He felt a cold hand brush passed him. At first he though it was just another of the people who had come to the masquerade. But then he saw her. She was small, not actually much taller than Samara, dressed in a gown of brightest white. A wedding dress. Her face was obscured by her veil, but as she turned towards him, Spike could see that her face was bruised and stained with tears and blood. She reached out to him with clearly broken hands.

"Please…" She said. "Please, help!" He pulled away from her roughly. She was gone in an instant.

They stared at the spot where the woman had been.

"What… Why did she say 'help'?" Buffy asked. Spike turned to her.

"Well, it's obvious, innit? She doesn't want to be dead. Nobody wants to be dead. She wants revenge. She wants a way back. That's always what they want,"

"But… can't she just get that herself? Like Samara?"

Spike shook his head. "She's not strong enough… not everyone has power as a ghost. Many have none. Samara's different… she was already a psychic when she was killed… that only made her angrier and her power stronger. Really, it was the least productive thing that could be done to stop her…"

"Buffy? Spike?"

"Bloody hell," Spike moaned at the familiar voice. He turned to face the person who the voice belonged to, which, of course, was Angel. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was going to ask you the same question." Angel said, frowning. Of course, he was always frowning, that was nothing unusual.

"So… how are things in L.A?"

"Not too great," Angel admitted. "Illyria and I were having quite a bit of trouble without you. We were having enough trouble with you. But we've got two Slayers on our side now, and a freelance demon hunter."

"Their names would be?"

"Faith Lehane. I think you know her. Erika Thompson is the other Slayer. And the demon hunter's called Robin Wood." There was silence for a while.

"Robin… is he here?" Spike asked.

"We're all here. Except Illyria. She stayed at home… What? Do you know Robin or something? Is that it?"

"Guess you could say that." Spike said. "I killed his mother." The silence was back, falling over them as a shroud, smothering them, suffocating them.

"Oh." Angel said.

"You didn't know that?" Spike asked, a mildly surprised tone in his voice. "I would have though he'd told you… She was going to die sooner or later anyway. I mean, seven years! That's a very long life for a Slayer…" Then he stopped, as a thought came across his mind. Angel was listening to what he was saying. Actually listening, not just paying attention. What the bloody hell was going along here?

"I didn't know… he never told me his mother was a Slayer," Angel said.

"Not too surprised…" Spike said. He wasn't really paying much attention to their conversation. He was far too busy looking at all the ghosts around the room.

…

Damien walked in the door silently and stealthily, so no one would notice. Not that it would matter. Any human would not recognise him, and any vampire would not be in need of their vision or hearing to know that he was there. They would smell him if he got close enough to them. But far away here, his scent would be covered by all the people. There only seemed to be about twenty vampires, maybe more, maybe less. There did, however, appear to be a hell of a lot of ghosts. The vast majority of them seemed to have died a rather long time ago, at least a couple of centuries before Damien had even been born, from the look of their outfits. Most of them were weak, hardly in a position to do anything about their current situation. He scanned the room, trying to make out his pray among the crowd. There. He'd found them, with those two girls they liked, and a tall, dark haired man, maybe two inches shorter than Damien himself. He recognised him from somewhere, he thought, but he couldn't tell who it was exactly; his back was turned towards Damien, facing the girl he was talking to. Spike was standing beside him, a good four inches smaller, seeming to be arguing. Samara was there, talking to Spike, or just looking at him. He so wanted to kill them, to murder them, to end their pathetic little lives. But not yet. No. He would wait for later to strike.

…

Robin and Faith were walking over to greet them. They looked older than when Spike had last seen them. _Well, yeah, bit obvious. Eight years ago, weren't it? Eight bloody years! Course they look older… _he thought. It had been eight years since he had seen them last. Well, it had been eight years since the only time he'd seen them, but never mind…

"Hey, B! Isn't she evil?" Faith asked, gesturing to Drusilla.

"She's not evil. Just insane," Spike said, though he seemed to be speaking more to Angel than to Faith, proven by the accusation in his tone.

"I know. Willow told me. I wonder what the hell's going to happen with the Shanshu now?"

"Who gives a damn? It's just a bloody prophecy, they always come to pass. _Always._ There is no bloody point in trying to avert them, or make them fall to a different person. It's going to happen. That's it. The end. Besides, the bloody thing never says what's going to happen, does it? Vampire with a soul fated to save or destroy the world and then turn into a bloody human is what you lot keep saying. What if it is you then? What if you end up destroying the world? What then?" Angel remained silent. He simply had nothing to say. Spike had rendered him speechless. He smirked in satisfaction at that thought.

"Wait a second. Who is she? And what are you talking about? And who's that little girl?" Robin asked. Angel followed his gaze to Samara. It seemed that he had only just noticed her.

"Yeah, Spike. Who is that little girl?" He asked.

"She's Samara Morgan. She's sort of my daughter," Spike said.

"Sort of?" Angel questioned.

"We saved her… She was stuck in a well. So we took her in, adopted her I guess. But she's not ours; she's not some miracle kid like your Conor. She's normal. Well, apart from the whole projected thermography or thoughtography or whatever it is," At Angels (and everyone else's) confused expression, he added, "She can make pictures with her mind. That's how come we found her. She showed us the well, showed us her pain" He wanted more than ever to leave this place. He was not comfortable around Robin. And he was about to be made doubly uncomfortable.

"Robin?" Asked a woman's voice. Spike could not see the owner of the voice, but Robin's answer made it a little obvious.

"Mom?" His voice sounded strange to Spike. Disbelief mingled with happiness, and something else. But he did not dwell on that. He could feel her eyes on his and he knew Nikki recognised him. And her next words did nothing but confirm that.

"Spike! You bastard! You killed me!" And she slapped him. He felt the hard impact of the back of her hand, and it hurt. But not Slayer hurt. Death had weakened her. She didn't have anything resembling the strength she had possessed when living.

"Seriously? What is with all these damn ghosts? What the bloody hell are they all doing here?" He asked, feigning anger. Anger wasn't what Spike really felt right then. He felt like he just wanted to run away and hide. Or kill something.

"I sent them," Samara said. It was the first time she had spoken since they'd been there. And it shocked everyone.

"Why?" Spike asked curiously.

"He doesn't like it. He's angry… He wants us gone. But I'm done waiting. Not one day. No days," Samara explained. She got confused looks from everyone except Spike and Drusilla. They understood exactly what she was saying. Damien wanted to kill them, but there was no way she was going to wait to kill him. She was going to kill him tonight.

"Finally," Spike muttered, getting them even more confused looks. Spike knew why. Samara's cryptic little sentence was exactly that. Cryptic. It was the same with about half of what Dru said. The other half didn't make sense at all. In a way, Samara was almost as crazy as Dru. A bit less so, but still… She had spent a good few decades in the bottom of a well, after all.

"Wait. Your daughter can summon ghosts?" Robin asked.

"Well, yeah…" Spike said.

"She speaks to them. She tells them to get away, but they'll have none of it. They'll never leave her. She used to be one herself, you know. Until we brought her back from Death," Drusilla said.

"So she used to be a ghost? I thought you said you saved her when she was stuck down a well," Angel said.

"She _was_ stuck down a well. I just neglected to mention that she'd been stuck there since 1978," Spike said. He looked at Nikki, and was sickened at the sight of her. She looked… dead. Which was a bit obvious really, but… Spike hadn't really seen all that many ghosts until now, and those he had seen… he hadn't had any hand in their deaths. But he'd _killed _Nikki. He'd her with his own two bloody hands. He could remember her; he could remember it all so clearly. He could remember that day in the New York subway train, he could remember – how terribly vividly! – He could remember knocking her down, holding her to the ground, snapping her neck. And the worst part? He'd enjoyed it. Even now, now that he could – and did – regret it, he was still felt proud of himself. At a mere ninety-seven years, he had killed his second Slayer. Most vampires couldn't even boast killing their first as young as that. Most vampires hadn't even killed a Slayer.

…

Aidan walked aimlessly, not even thinking for a moment that he might know where he could possibly be going. He felt the beginnings of a headache, and growled softly. Nobody even heard him. It was so strange. It was like he was alone… and yet there were so many people gathered in the room. He just needed to get away. Not looking where he was going, he suddenly fell to the ground. He swore under his breath as he got to his feet, searching for whatever had caused him to trip. He could never have expected to see his dead mother standing in front of him.

"Rachel? Is that really you?" He asked, unable to believe what he was seeing. "But I ki… I mean, you're dead. You can't be here…"

"I am dead. You killed me. I'm pretty sure most people in here are dead, yourself included. What happened? Who, like, turned you into a vampire?" Rachel asked.

"My sire? His names Damien. Samara's going to kill him. Tonight, as far as I'm aware… Wait… You're not mad at me. Why? You should be mad at me. I'm mad at Damien…" His sentence trailed off into nothingness. Was there even any point in asking Rachel these things? Maybe she was mad at him. She could be quite good at hiding things when she really tried.

"No, honey, I'm not." Then she laughed. "Okay, I guess I am a little. But mostly at Damien. He was the one who did this to you… If he'd left you alone, I wouldn't be dead." Rachel replied.

"But if I'd just left, if I hadn't come home…" But he was talking to himself. Rachel was gone. Aidan glared at nothing in particular. His mother had come back to him, only to go away again. Leave him alone, again. He sank to the floor. Nobody noticed him. He didn't quite know how he felt about that.

…

Damien was not happy. No, currently he was very, very angry. He did _not _like how this was going. All these ghosts… Most of them were weak alone, with just a few exceptions, but together…. He didn't want to think. He had to get to his plan, and fast.

"Damien," That voice immediately stopped him in his tracks. It was Erin. His little sister.

"Erin," He said. "What brings you here?"

"The little girl. She told us to come. Aren't you even going to look at me when I speak to you?" Damien turned, already afraid of what he might see. And he nearly threw up at the sight of her. As a vampire, he was used to seeing copious amounts of blood; it no longer scared him, but rather, it pleased him. But this was his _sister. _His little sister who had died at the young age of eleven. He didn't want to think of what Spike had done to her, and he became filled with rage just seeing her.

She looked so alike to how she had been when she was alive… except that she was covered from head to toe in blood. Her skin was pale white where the blood did not cover her. Her hair clung to her scalp, sticky with both blood and the stagnant water of the lake where her body had been dumped. She stepped closer to him, reaching for his hand. Her skin was freezing, even to Damien.

"You missed me, didn't you? Why do you look afraid?" Damien couldn't answer. "I can't stay here long. Damien?" He didn't say a word. His face remained deadpan, expressionless. "I have to leave now." And before he could say anything, she was gone. Out of his reach forever. He let the tears fall from his eyes for a few moments. Then he growled and wiped them away. Now was not the time to get emotional. He could do that when Spike was dead. He reached for his phone.

"Diana," He said. "I'm ready. Are you?"


	22. I Don't Want To Die

Chapter Twenty Two

It's finally here! Damien will die!

* * *

><p>Diana smiled to herself, viewing the crowd. It was interesting to see. Some had simply put on a mask and called it a costume, such as Samara, Spike and Drusilla. However, some clearly had something in mind when they picked their costumes out. Diana herself made quite a stunning young Elizabeth I. She could see Captain Jack Sparrow, a skeleton, the Phantom of the Opera, Jack Skellington…<p>

She walked over to the young man dressed as Jack Sparrow. He was quite a handsome lad, but it wasn't specifically his looks that Diana was after. She smiled and sniffed the air. The scent of blood was already there… She could smell it even through their skin. It made her hungry, and she felt pleased that Damien had finally decided to make his move. The young man looked up and smiled at her, thinking she was just a normal girl. He couldn't be more wrong.

"Hey," he said. Diana smiled at him. He was quite obviously drunk; she could tell even without her superior sense of smell. "Wanna dance?" He said, slurring his speech.

Diana leaned in close to him, inclining her head, as though getting ready for a kiss. But a kiss was not what she had in mind. More like a meal. She growled as she switched into her vampiric face, startling the young man. But he had no time to run. She sank her fangs deep into the delicate white skin of his throat, allowing the warm red liquid to flow freely down her throat. She drank until he was drained, but he was dead before then. She dropped his body to the ground, licking her lips in satisfaction and grinning.

Diana looked around the hall, searching… And she found what she was looking for. There were several vampires around the room, most of them she knew. They were helping Damien. She walked towards one of them, a ghost of a smile refusing to fade from her face.

"Lucas," She whispered into his ear. The vampire named Lucas turned towards her. He had messy blond hair and was dressed as Sweeny Todd. Diana hadn't seen him until now, but she suddenly regretted not dressing as Mrs Lovett. Who better than a vampire to dress as one who sells pies made of human meat? Perhaps a cannibal…

"What is it, Di?" He asked in his husky voice. Diana allowed a large smile to spread across her face.

"Gather the others. It is time for our feast!"

…

Not too long after that, the screaming started. Spike growled, getting ready to fight.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" He shouted above the noise.

"Damien," Samara said, like his name could explain everything. Which, of course, it did. Damien had set his vampires loose on the unsuspecting people, allowing them to feed, therefore gaining a distraction. Damn, now Spike's brain hurt.

He grabbed a nearby vampire, throwing her off the young woman she was trying to feed from. Then he realised he had come without a stake. Why the bloody hell had he done that? He should have known there was a chance something like this could happen, but he'd forgotten a stake. No matter, it wasn't the end of the world. If he didn't have a stake, he might as well make one. He threw the vampire into the chairs, snapping one of them. He leaped over to her, picked up the broken chair leg and thrust the stake into her heart. He looked around, trying to estimate exactly how many vampires there were. His heart sank when he realised that there was probably about fifty. He knew they couldn't save everyone…

He glanced over at Buffy and Angel to see that they were already fighting, in a sort of team along with Dawn. Drusilla was struggling to get Samara to safety.

"Keep her in the room!" Spike called to her. "She's gotta kill Damien!"

"Why can't you?" Drusilla called back.

"I'm killing Damien!" Samara whispered. Drusilla sighed, which was barely audible to Spike from across the room. She walked over to the edge of the room, protecting Samara like… well, like a protective mother… Which she kinda was…

Preoccupied, Spike was taken by surprise when he felt a blow to his head. This wasn't one of the other vampire's, he knew that. It was likely that Damien had given them some kind of order to say that Spike belonged to him. This was Damien himself.

"Well, Spike. Let's finish this,"

…

Rider smiled. She shouldn't be smiling at a time like this, really, but she just _loved _to fight. She couldn't help it. She was just born that way. She dropped her bag to the ground, grabbing her stake. She felt someone behind her and turned, holding her weapon ready. But it was not who she expected.

"Toby?" She asked. It was her brother.

"Bronwyn! I didn't expect to see you here!" He said. Rider couldn't believe it. She embraced him tightly, almost certainly rendering him at least slightly unable to breathe. She let go slightly, to allow him to speak. And, well, breathe.

"So, what's happened in the last five years?" She asked him.

"Well… I became a zombie killer… You probably don't believe me…"

"I'm a necromancer and a vampire killer now too. Do you really think I don't believe-" Whatever Rider had been about to say was never to be heard. She had been thrown aside, down to the ground. She wasn't harmed. But the vampire who had done so was now going straight for her brother. She picked her stake up from where it had fallen and rushed towards Toby and the vampire who was trying to eat him.

"Don't mess with my brother!" She yelled, staking him. The vampire that is, not her brother. Toby looked on in amazement as the vampire turned to dust in front of him.

"There really are vampire's…" He breathed.

"Yeah, there are. And they're trying to kill everyone. So how about you give me a hand and kill some, huh?" Toby nodded. Rider threw him a stake.

"You'll be needing that,"

…

Spike snarled, showing teeth that were anything but human. Damien was glaring at him with yellow eyes, but smiling.

"You're going to die, Damien!" Spike growled.

"I know," Damien replied. "That's why I've got to kill you first," He rushed towards Spike, fangs bared. Spike tried to get out of the way, but wasn't quick enough. He got a nasty looking scrape on his cheek from Damien's tooth. He grabbed Damien by the collar and threw him down into the chairs that lined the outside of the hall. Several people who had been sitting there jumped up and ran. Damien crashed into the wood. His eyes widened when he saw that a jagged piece of wood had gone right threw his stomach. Not only did it hurt, but if it was just a few inches above its place, he could be dust right now. He had to be more careful.

"You giving up, then?" Spike called over to him, taunting him_. No Spike, not about to happen,_ Damien thought. He got up slowly, trying to get the broken wood out of his stomach as painlessly as possible. It wasn't easy. As soon as he was up, Spike took a few steps towards him and kicked him in the gut. Damien stumbled and tried hard to keep himself from falling over. Spike grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him down to the ground. But Damien got up quickly enough, and leaped away. He didn't quite know how a stomach wound would affect his fighting, but it certainly wouldn't make it any better. Oh well. At least he didn't have to worry about blood loss, but this certainly wasn't going as he had planned. He had no weapon. He didn't know what he'd been expecting to do, but he was certain it would have included a weapon. Something with which he could kill Spike. But he didn't have one.

Spike knelt down, snapping the leg off a chair. The same chair leg that was still stained with Damien's blood. He threw it towards Damien, who caught it, grinning. Spike grinned back. That was exactly what he'd been expecting. Damien rushed towards Spike again, holding his new weapon high.

"You're going to die, Spike!" He shouted.

…

Buffy staked another vampire and groaned. There were so many of them! She, Faith, Angel, Robin and Dawn were trying - and, for the most part, succeeding – to fight them all, but it really didn't seem possible. They were staying close to people, trying to protect them. Well, what was a Slayer for if it wasn't to slay vampires? Buffy dodged another punch, and as her attacker had just noticed he hadn't succeeded in hitting her – he wasn't really to bright – she kicked him hard in the jaw. Although he appeared unharmed, he stumbled back a few paces. Far enough back for Buffy to fully extend her arm in the space between them. She plunged the stake deep into his un-beating heart and he turned to dust. She looked over at Dawn. Her sister was holding up pretty well, considering that she had no powers to speak of. Faith was doing even better, fighting two vampires at once. Buffy smiled. Maybe she should give her fellow Slayer a hand. She grabbed one of the vampires by the neck and threw her down, kicking her in the stomach before glancing over her shoulder at Faith.

"How are you, Faith?" She asked, staking her vampire.

"I'm five by five, B!" Faith said, staking the vampire she was fighting. "Thanks a bunch,"

"No problem," Buffy said, dodging just as another vampire grabbed for her. She spun around, punching him in the nose, and then kicking him in the ribs, knocking him down. He got back up quickly and went for Buffy, managing to hit her in the face. She stumbled and fell onto a table, splashing a large amount of soft drinks, wine and juice into her face. She grimaced in disgust. As the vampire was about to strike once more, she rolled out of the way, back down onto the floor. As he dived down to kill her, she held up her stake, relying on his momentum so that he'd technically be staking himself. It worked. Buffy stood up, preparing for another attack. It seemed there was an almost unstoppable onslaught, but Buffy was determined to save as many people as she could.

…

Damien threw Spike into the wall, watching him fall with satisfaction. He was determined that this would be the end of it all. The end of Spike's life. The end of his grudge. And, of course, the end of his own life. He didn't want to die, but by now he knew it was inevitable. At least he could say he'd gone down fighting. He didn't care what Samara did to him as long as he could kill Spike first. It was Spike who killed him.

Spike glared at Damien through yellow eyes. He wasn't going to die. Last time, he hadn't been expecting Damien, but this time Damien had lost that element of surprise. He wasn't going to let Damien kill him. But really, what made Damien so much worse? He had killed many innocent people in his long life – or death – so did that mean he deserved to die too?

He wasn't going to think about that now. He was going to try thinking about as little as possible, just remembering to fight. As Damien leapt at him again, he dodged sideways and then grabbed Damien around the throat, smashing him into the chairs again. Damien wasn't impaled by a broken piece of wood this time, unfortunately. He stayed down. Spike thought that he was just too wounded or too tired to get back up, and walked over to him, grabbing another broken piece of wood to use as a stake.

"It's over, Damien," Spike said. "You've lost." He raised the stake above his head, getting ready to strike. Damien rolled out of the way at the last minute, and Spike fell forward, off balance for a moment. Damien kicked him in the back, thankfully not breaking his spine, and quickly grabbed Spike's stake.

"No Spike. You've lost," He said. This was it. He was going to kill Spike. And this time he would stay dead. Damien raised the stake. Spike took a deep breath, preparing for the blow. All of this happened in a mere second, although it seemed like an eternity. But the stake to the heart never came. At the sound of a scream, both Spike and Damien turned. It was a voice they both recognized, though Damien most of all. Rider. Damien dropped the stake and ran over to her. Spike stood up, wondering what the hell was happening, though pretty grateful for not dying.

Rider had been stabbed through the heart with her own stake. She was bleeding tremendously. It was an attack she hadn't been expecting. She couldn't come back once she was dead this time. Her breathing was deep and laborious, almost croaking. She wasn't going to survive for long. Damien held her in his arms, sobbing. No one present had ever thought they would see Damien crying, but here he was.

"Don't die," He whispered. But it was useless. He could feel Rider's heart slowing. "Bronwyn, don't die… I love you," Rider smiled slightly.

"No you don't," She said. Her voice sounded horrible. Damien knew she hated him now, and he thought he'd hated her… But he didn't. He told the truth when he said he loved her. But she didn't believe it. She never would, because he was so terribly bad at showing it. It just wasn't in Damien's nature to be kind… Normally, at least. He brought his own arm to his lips and bit down, allowing the blood to flow out. He put his bleeding wrist to Rider's lips. She swallowed the cold vampire blood like it tasted much better than it actually did. The taste didn't matter to her, though, because it gave her life. When Rider's heart finally stopped, Damien was unconcerned. She would rise again, as a vampire. He stood up, wiping the tears from his face. It wasn't over yet. Before going back to Spike, Damien looked around the hall for the vampire who had tried to kill Rider. He spotted him pretty quickly and ran towards him, dragged him to the side of the hall and started smashing his head against the wall again and again. The vampire cried out in pain and blood flowed out of his skull, staining the wall a murky red colour. Damien didn't stop until the vampire's head was crushed in entirely and he turned to dust. He didn't notice the water on the floor until it was too late. Samara was doing this. Panicking, he ran to the nearest door, trying to open it and get away. He didn't want to die! But it was no use. The door would not open, however hard he tried. Damien doubted that the door would budge if someone shot the hinges off with a cannon. He sank to the ground, feeling nothing but despair. He was going to die. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He hadn't been able to kill Spike, only ended up wounded himself. At least he'd managed to save Rider… That may have been the only good deed he'd ever done and it wasn't even good. She would become a monster, just like him. He had a sinking sensation when he realized that he'd basically done the same thing to Rider as Spike had done to him. He could hear Samara's footsteps behind him in the water, but didn't look behind him. He knew what would come.

"Time's up," Samara said. She said it the same way she said everything. Slow and quiet, almost as though it were an effort for her to speak, but in the voice of a little girl. It was unnerving. Here was a little girl saying she was about to kill Damien. "Look at me,"

Damien didn't want to turn around, but he found that it was impossible to disobey Samara. She'd gotten even stronger than before. She still struggled to control, but all the same had a lot more control over her powers. If she wanted to, she could quite likely force someone to commit suicide. Just like Anna and Richard Morgan had done. Damien wasn't very comfortable with that idea. But what was the point in feeling anything now? He knew what was going to happen. He didn't have a clue what it would be like. No one did, did they? Ever since the day he was born in 1964, Damien had been afraid of death. Or perhaps it was just since the day he became a vampire, in 1985. When he was human he had been very reckless, and just generally stupid. He wouldn't have cared if he died. He wouldn't have cared too much about anyone else, either. Just Erin. Erin and Bronwyn were the only people he'd ever cared about, no one else had ever mattered…

The lights in the hall flickered once and then went out. Panic started again, followed by more screaming. There were less vampires now, but those that remained were the only ones who could see, and they were hungry. But there were two slayers and three good vampires in the room, plus a slayers sister and demon killer. Seven people none of the vampires wanted to mess with.

…

Buffy could hardly see in the dark, but she still had to keep fighting. She had to protect all the innocent people or they'd die. Okay, so they weren't all completely terrified, but they mostly didn't seem to understand that they were fighting vampires. Buffy could swear a minute ago she'd heard someone fire a gun at a vampire. It might slow them down, but it wouldn't kill them. But those people needed a little less help than those who just stood staring, like they were dreaming or something. Of course, they couldn't see, but still…

"Behind you!" Angel called. Buffy turned around just in time to see a vampire diving right for her neck. She blocked him, then punched him in the jaw. Ow. It was a bad idea to punch a vampire's mouth. Buffy decided never to try it again. As the vampire went to attack her again, she ducked and grabbed the vampire by the feet, pulling her down to the ground. She staked the vampire without getting up. Their numbers were diminishing. It wouldn't be long until they were all gone. Unfortunately, they hadn't completely avoided casualty's. Several people were dead. And the wounded couldn't get away…

…

Samara stared at Damien. He was sitting down in the water, trying not to look at her, but failing. He was shaking slightly as he stood up. He was terrified of Samara. Many people were. But many of them were not supposedly immortal, which Damien was.

"I don't want to die," He whispered. His voice sounded so delicate, like that of a frightened child.

"But you will," Samara said. "I'll kill you. Seven days are up, Damien. It's over…"

Damien whimpered, and then said something Samara never would have expected. "Look after her. Look after Bronwyn…"

"We will," Samara said.

"Then I'll die. I deserve it," Damien said. He sounded so close to tears. But Samara felt no guilt. She never had felt guilt. Remorse was a foreign concept to her. She kneeled down slowly, lowering herself to Damien's level. He was filled with so much fear it was almost tangible. She looked into his eyes, saw her own reflected their. Damien started gasping for breath as he became ever more scared. And then the impossible happened. The water caught fire. Damien, unable to move, could only sit there and cry out in pain as the flames crawled up his clothes, his skin, his hair... He begged aloud for her to stop. But Samara was not merciful. She watched on with something akin to satisfaction as the flames engulfed his body, consuming him entirely. She had done all that with her mind. She got to her feet, turned the lights on, opened the doors. She'd done it. He was dead.

* * *

><p>One more chapter to go...<p> 


	23. Epilogue

_Chapter Twenty-Three_

Drusilla clapped her hands in childish glee as she watched Samara.

"That's my girl!" She said. Spike smiled at her. Damien was dead. After terrorizing them for so long, he was finally dead.

Samara began to walk over to them. "I did it," She said.

"We saw," Spike said. "Well done," He frowned. "What happened to Rider? Is she dead?"

"Not quite. A vampire tried to kill her…" Dru started.

"And Damien made her immortal. He told her he loved her. He told us to look after her," Samara finished.

"And her brother?" Spike asked.

A dark look came across his daughters face. "Not as lucky…"

Spike looked around the hall, and finally his eyes fell upon the dead boy. "Shame. She would've liked to have him around,"

"Where's Aidan?" Samara asked.

"Right here," said a voice from behind her. It wasn't Aidan. It was another vampire, carrying Aidan's unconscious body.

"Spike, stake him!" Drusilla said, grabbing Samara and pulling her out of the way even though she could take care of herself. Spike did just as Drusilla said, shoving the vampire into the wall, forcing him to drop Aidan and then staking him right through the heart.

"I'll go check on Buffy. Dru, look after Samara. Samara, look after Drusilla," He said, leaving the two of them alone. He thought for a minute about telling them to look after Aidan, but really couldn't bothered. He knew they'd do so anyway. Samara seemed to quite like the boy, although he hated her.

"How're things going?" Spike asked Buffy. She was fighting a vampire. There weren't many left now, but with the lights back, the humans were finally having the sense to actually fight them.

"Bit better with light," Buffy replied, kicking the vampire and sending him sprawling onto the floor. Spike grabbed him by the shirt collar and plunged the stake into his heart. He turned to dust in an instant.

Spike smiled. "Do we _ever _have even a day without being attacked by someone?"

"Maybe," Buffy said. "A week though, I'm not too sure about. Hey, I'm a Slayer, it's my job,"

"It's your job to kill 'em, ain't it? Not get killed _by _them,"

"You've killed two slayers. Who're still here right now," Buffy said.

Spike looked around. Sure enough, he could see Nikki quite nearby. She was glaring at him like… well, like he'd killed her and she wanted revenge. But couldn't get any, because, well, she was a ghost wasn't she? She could hurt him a bit, but Spike remembered what being a ghost was like for him and imagined that it was quite likely the same for her. He'd had to concentrate very hard just to lift a mug, let alone hit someone. So it was very hard for Spike back then, because he unfortunately didn't have very much of an attention span. But it still beat the chip.

…

Later, they had all gone home. Aidan was sleeping on the sofa at the Morgans house. Spike and Drusilla were asleep in their bed. Rider was, well… technically she was dead right now, lying on the floor by Aidan. Only Samara was awake. She was reading. It wasn't something she often did, but she often read during the day, when all the others were asleep. It was quietest thing she could do. She seemed to be becoming obsessed with Alice in Wonderland. Wonderland seemed very appealing to her, although a little scar, it was an adventure. She loved books like this. Like Alice or Coraline or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory… She loved them because they made her feel just like a normal kid. Not like the homicidal spirit of an unstable girl with uncontrollable psychic powers. Just a normal kid. The same went for candy floss, ice cream, cartoons and, strangely enough, Dead Kennedy's music. Maybe just because Spike liked it, but she kept getting California Uber Alles stuck in her head…

Suddenly, the phone rung. Looking at it warily, Samara picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Is this Samara?" The voice had a noticible British accent, like Spike.

"Yes,"

"It's Annie. Tell Aidan I'm coming for him. I'll be back in a few days, maybe a week, but I've got some things to do,"

Then Annie hung up the phone. Samara went back to her book, not even thinking about what she'd said.

…

Late that day, Rider's eyes finally fluttered open. She sat upright immediately, the blanket Samara had thrown over her falling to the floor. It took her a minute to process where she was. It only took a few seconds for her to notice the hunger though. It gnawed at her, worse than anything she'd felt as a human. And that was the last thing she noticed, as her face changed. She growled. This wasn't what she wanted. Damien should have known that. Why would he do such a thing? She sighed. Wasn't worth worrying about that right now. What could she do, after all, aside from killing herself?

Blood. She needed blood. And the sooner she got it the better. There was blood in her satchel, which lay on the floor. She'd originally started packing it for Damien, but now she needed it. A chuckle escaped her. She'd never have thought she'd need it herself. She tore the plastic on the pigs blood and downed it all in one gulp, wanting to spit the whole time. Damien hadn't been kidding when he'd said it tasted gross. But Spike hadn't complained too much. She guessed he was just used to it.

…

Spike rolled out of bed in the evening and got dressed, still in somewhat of a trance. Memories of the past few weeks – or was it months? He hadn't kept track – kept drifting into his mind. He laughed, wondering what would have happened if he'd just ignored his cell phone ringing back in L.A. He wouldn't have come to Dru, wouldn't have found Samara. Damien wouldn't have found him. Or he might've. But he'd have Angel and Robin and Illyria and Faith… Not only Drusilla and Samara. He wondered if they'd all go back to that, or any of them at all. He wanted to keep going, keep fighting the good fight. But what about Samara and Drusilla? And Rider, what about Rider? Bronwyn Rider was a vampire without a soul. She had no conscience, or any way to know how to do something right. Spike laughed. Hey, maybe he'd be her Jimminy Cricket.

He walked downstairs, hungry for his blood. When he got down, he saw Aidan, Samara and Rider all in the kitchen, just talking, watching the T.V. Normal stuff, like they weren't a household full of vampires and a psychic girl.

"Morning," He said, walking over to the frigde to get his flask full of blood.

"Good morning," Samara greeted him, smiling slightly. She'd gotten so much happier since the day she'd come to them, it was almost unbelievable. When she was still a ghost, Spike was sure she'd just fix that death glare on him if he said good morning at seven o' clock at night. He poured the blood into a mug and put it in the microwave. When it was done, he added a little Wheatabix and suger in and drank it down quickly.

"So, what are you watching?" He asked, sitting down beside Samara.

"Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone,"

…

Aidan left the day after that. He didn't want to stay with them anymore. Samara had tried to kill him, tried to possess him… And Rider just reminded him of Damien. None of those memories were pleasant and he didn't want to relieve them. Rider let him have her bike, said she wouldn't be needing it anymore. A few days later, when Annie came by for Aidan, she was furious. How could he have left without telling her? But she looked for him and she found him.


End file.
